#said bisexual jesus rights

[lafcadiosadventures]

tell us how you really feel about it, Diderot:

"If our priests were not stupid bigots; if this abominable Christianity had not been established by murder and blood; if the joys of paradise were not reduced to an irrelevant beatific vision of I don’t know what, that we can’t comprehend or understand; if our Hell offered something other than fiery pits, hideous and gothic demons, howls and teeth grinding; if our paintings could be something else besides atrocious scenes, a scorched man, a hanged man, a roasted man, a grilled man, a disgusting carnage; if all of our male and female saints were not wrapped in veils up to their nose, if our ideas of prudishness and modesty had not proscribed the display of arms, inner thighs, breasts, shoulders, any type of nudity, if the spirit of mortification had not withered these nipples,rendered the inner thighs flaccid, arms rendered scrawny, the back muscles torn; if our artists were not chained and our poets constrained by the dreadful words of Sacrilege and Profanation; if the Virgin Mary had been the mother of Pleasure, or rather, the mother of God, if her beautiful eyes, her beautiful breasts, her beautiful buttocks had been what had attracted the Holy Spirit towards her, and had had that written on the Book of his history; if the angel Gabriel had been glorified by the beauty of his shoulders; if Madeleine had had a sort of gallant adventure with Christ; if during the Wedding at Cana, Christ, between two glasses of wine, in a somewhat non-conformist manner,threw glances at both the breasts of a prostitute and Saint John’s buttocks, uncertain if he’d stay faithful or not to the apostle with the chin in bloom with its first beard: you would see what our painters, our poets, our sculptors could accomplish; in what tone would we speak of their charms, which would play such a great and marvelous role in the history of our religion and our God; and how would we stare at the beauty to which we owe our birth, the incarnation of the Saviour, and the grace of our redemption."

Denis Diderot, Essay on Painting, written in 1765, but published posthumously around the year 1790’s

frech original under the cut

« (…) si nos prêtres n’étaient pas de stupides bigots ; si cet abominable christianisme ne s’était pas établi par le meurtre et par le sang ; si les joies de notre paradis ne se réduisaient pas à une impertinente vision béatifique de je ne sais quoi, qu’on ne comprend ni n’entend ; si notre enfer offrait autre chose que des gouffres de feux, des démons hideux et gothiques, des hurlements et des grincements de dents ; si nos tableaux pouvaient être autre chose que des scènes d’atrocité, un écorché, un pendu, un rôti, un grillé, une dégoûtante boucherie ; si tous nos saints et nos saintes n’étaient pas voilés jusqu’au bout du nez, si nos idées de pudeur et de modestie n’avaient proscrit la vue des bras, des cuisses, des tétons, des épaules, toute nudité ; si l’esprit de mortification n’avait flétri ces tétons, amolli ces cuisses, décharné ces bras, déchiré ces épaules ; si nos artistes n’étaient pas enchaînés et nos poètes contenus par les mots effrayants de sacrilège et de profanation ; si la vierge Marie avait été la mère du plaisir, ou bien, mère de Dieu, si c’eût été ses beaux yeux, ses beaux tétons, ses belles fesses, qui eussent attiré l’Esprit-Saint sur elle, et que cela fût écrit dans le livre de son histoire ; si l’ange Gabriel y était vanté par ses belles épaules ; si la Madeleine avait eu quelque aventure galante avec le Christ ; si, aux noces de Cana, le Christ entre deux vins, un peu non-conformiste, eût parcouru la gorge d’une des filles de noce et les fesses de saint Jean, incertain s’il resterait fidèle ou non à l’apôtre au menton ombragé d’un duvet léger : vous verriez ce qu’il en serait de nos peintres, de nos poètes et de nos statuaires ; de quel ton nous parlerions de ces charmes, qui joueraient un si grand et si merveilleux rôle dans l’histoire de notre religion et de notre Dieu ; et de quel œil nous regarderions la beauté à laquelle nous devrions la naissance, l’incarnation du Sauveur, et la grâce de notre rédemption. »

Denis Diderot, Essai sur la peinture, écrit en 1765, mais de publication posthume environ les années 1790’s

[firehose118]

{ao3}

Tommy wasn’t lying to Hen and Karen when he said they were taking things at Evan’s pace. It’s just that Evan’s preferred pace is far from slow.

It’s like that kiss in the hospital lobby knocked any remaining nerves about Evan’s newfound bisexuality clean out of him. They’d kissed a few times in between their first and that one, but they’d all been quick, chaste things at the ends of dates; closed-mouthed and respectful. Tommy was trying not to push Evan into anything he wasn’t comfortable with. But once Evan threw open those hospital doors, the floodgates on their sex life opened as well.

Evan was all over him every chance he got—lips trailing, tongue tasting, fingers grabbing. He’d given Tommy a blowjob so good it was hard to believe that it was not only his first, but not even something he’d known he wanted a few weeks ago.

Evan was a natural. He was hungry for anything Tommy would give him; no hesitation. He’ll try anything if he thinks it might feel good.

Tommy knows Evan is experienced; far from a blushing virgin, even if he’d never gone to bed with another man before. They’d talked a lot over the last few weeks. Evan had told Tommy about ‘Buck 1.0’ and about some of his more adventurous girlfriends.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise, really.

Within a week of the wedding, Evan is begging Tommy to fuck him. No exaggeration: begging. Mewls and whines of please Tommy please I wanna feel you I want you inside of me please I know you’ll make it so good in between wet kisses while Tommy covers Evan's body with his own.

And Tommy is only human. He’s trying to go slow, trying to be respectful because he really likes Evan, okay? Not just his body: he likes Evan. But when Evan digs his hands into Tommy's back and pouts his plush pink lips and lets his blue eyes go wide and earnest, Tommy has no choice but to give in to what they clearly both want.

And god, does he want. He wants Evan with a ferocity he hasn’t felt since he first came out, when everything was new and liberating and even the smallest touch was so goddamn good. He wants Evan so bad he can feel it in his teeth.

Jesus, okay. Fine. If Evan doesn’t think it’s too much too soon—if he’s writhing naked under Tommy’s body; spreading his legs wide and pleading for Tommy to give it to him—well, Evan is a grown man. Tommy is gonna take him at his word that he’s ready for this.

Still, he wants to be respectful. He’ll fuck him, but he’s going to be gentle about it. This is Evan’s first time. He wants to make sure Evan knows that Tommy wants him for more than a quick fuck. He wants Evan to feel good. He wants Evan to come back for seconds.

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you,” Tommy says.

Evan moans in delight and surges up for a kiss. Tommy indulges him for a moment, lets Evan kiss him tongue-first and filthy, won’t deny that it gets him so hot he starts to sweat a little, but then he pulls back.

“Settle down, sweet boy,” Tommy hears himself say. “We need to talk a little first.”

He’s never called anyone that before, but it felt so right that he can’t even be embarrassed. Especially when it makes Evan moan and wrap his legs around Tommy’s body to pull their hips flush together.

Their dicks press against each other and Evan starts leaking enough that Tommy thinks maybe Evan would want to just do this; slow down and grind together until they both come. It’s been one of Tommy’s favorite things since he first discovered it a decade ago, the first time he let a man into his bed instead of getting fucked in a bar bathroom or someone’s car.

“Okay,” Evan says into his mouth. “Let’s talk. Whatever you need.”

No, Tommy thinks, whatever you need. This is so you’re comfortable. This is so you’re prepared for what’s about to happen, because it’s very different on the receiving end, and this hole doesn’t work like the one you’re used to.

But what he says is, “Have you ever done anal before?”

Evan smiles, slow and dirty. “Oh yeah. I’ve had a few girlfriends who were into it.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, relieved. He’s not a total novice. He’ll know there needs to be lube involved, lots of stretching. “That’s good. You have some experience at least.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, that was never part of my problem coming to terms with liking guys,” Evan says like he’s the one reassuring Tommy. And then, “The first time a girl brought out a strap-on I wasn’t sure, but I’m so glad I tried it. Maybe that should’ve been a hint that I like guys too? But plenty of straight men like getting fucked by women so maybe it’s unrelated.”

Evan is babbling a little, so Tommy starts licking along his jaw to distract him while he processes what the fuck Evan just said.

Because that is not what Tommy meant when he asked if Evan had done anal before. He’d thought maybe one of Evan’s more adventurous girlfriends had asked him to fuck her ass. Maybe a hookup who knew Evan would be gentle about it. He’d never even considered the possibility that Evan had ever had anything more than a stray finger up his own ass. In Tommy’s experience, most straight guys hadn’t.

Evan has been fucked before. This isn’t new to him. He’d never kissed a guy before Tommy, never been on a date with one, but he’s been fucked. More than once, from the sound of it.

And oh god, that makes Evan's behavior make so much more sense. He's not overeager; diving head-first into something he's never done before. He's experienced. He knows exactly what he's asking for because he's had it before.

Tommy is never underestimating Evan again. He's done making assumptions. Evan is a wonder.

It hits Tommy just how different their journeys with sexuality have been. Tommy would never have been brave enough to ask a woman to fuck him; never would have been secure enough in himself to say yes if she'd offered it. He would have been terrified of what it meant if he'd liked it. He would have known, deep down, exactly why he would have.

But Evan is so open, so willing to try anything he thinks might feel good, no matter what it means about himself. He doesn't deny himself pleasure if no one is getting hurt. It took Tommy so, so long to get anywhere close to that same point. Evan comes by it naturally.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. But it is.

“You liked it?” Tommy asks, just to be absolutely clear.

“Tommy,” Evan says emphatically. “I love getting fucked.”

“God, you’re a fucking dream,” Tommy says, biting a mark into Evan’s neck.

“Are we good?” Evan squirms. “Are we done talking? Can I have your dick now?”

Tommy laughs a little into Evan’s skin. “Yeah, baby, we’re good. You can have anything you want.”

And Tommy finds that he really, really means it.

Within minutes, he’s got Evan gasping and moaning and fucking back onto his fingers like a pro. Because he is. Because he’s done this before and he fucking loves it. He knows what he likes and what he needs. He tells Tommy where to crook his fingers and when he’s ready for another one.

Tommy isn’t going to be able to give this up easily; won’t be able to give Evan up easily. The way Evan’s voice breaks when Tommy brushes his prostate sinks into Tommy’s bones.

The way Evan sighs and smiles, jesus, when Tommy gets his dick inside of him is almost more than Tommy can handle. He has to take a second to pull himself back from the edge just from looking at Evan’s glassy-eyed expression, nevermind the perfect feeling of his hole squeezing around Tommy’s dick like it was made for him.

Tommy groans and buries his face in Evan’s neck. He wasn’t prepared for this tonight. He’s spent weeks telling himself to manage his expectations; that this was all new to Evan so even when they got here—if they got here—it would be slow-going. Maybe he wouldn’t even make it all the way inside the first time, and that would be fine. He’d go as slow as Evan needed him to.

What he wasn’t prepared for was Evan shifting his hips up, adjusting the angle and fucking himself on Tommy’s dick when Tommy didn’t start thrusting quickly enough for his liking. He wasn’t prepared for the full-body shudder that runs through Evan when he manages to find his own prostate with Tommy’s dick.

“Tommy,” Evan moans. His skin is flushed and his lips are kiss-swollen and Tommy wants to devour him. He can’t believe he’s lucky enough to have his name in this beautiful man’s mouth. “You can move, please- please fuck me. Feels so good already.”

Tommy’s barely hanging on, barely keeping up, but he shakes himself off and switches gears. Evan wants to get fucked? Tommy can do that. Tommy will give him anything. As hot as it is to have Evan wriggling against him like he’s a very heavy dildo (and isn’t that something to play with later?), Tommy wants to show Evan a good time.

Tommy pulls his face out of Evan’s neck and sits back on his knees. He’d been planning on staying close to Evan to monitor for any signs of discomfort, to kiss his neck and chest and lips so that Evan felt precious and loved. But that’s not what Evan’s body is asking of him right now.

Hands spread wide from Evan’s hips back to his ass to really get a grip on him, Tommy starts thrusting hard and fast. Evan is smiling again, moaning little fucked out ah ah ahs that threaten to send Tommy into a tailspin. Fuck, this is not what he thought their first time would be like, but it’s so fucking hot.

But even now, even after every revelation he’s had tonight, Evan continues to surprise him.

“Wanna ride you,” Evan says, pushing on Tommy’s hips with his legs until Tommy pulls out and flips them.

Evan settles himself on Tommy’s hips and takes Tommy’s dick in his hand. He sinks back down onto it and fuck, he’s smiling again; eyes closed, lips parted, looking content beyond belief.

He starts really moving on top of Tommy. Evan’s thighs are strong and powerful as he lifts himself up and drops himself down. His whole body is strong; thick muscle fueled by a soft layer of fat that Tommy can’t help but dig his fingers into. This man is huge. He’s dedicated. His hands come down to rest over Tommy’s as if to encourage him to dig in deeper; to leave hand-shaped bruises on his hips. Tommy squeezes and Evan moans.

God, and the noises he makes; deep groans and long, lingering moans that echo through the loft. Tommy manages to get a few whines out of him with some well-placed thrusts. Evan is so open with everything else; it tracks that he’d make it known just how much he’s enjoying himself.

It’s so good. It’s all so good. Evan looks incredible and he knows what he’s doing. He wasn’t lying when he said he loved getting fucked: he looked blissed-out and determined. He looks like once isn’t going to be enough for him tonight, and he looks like he knows exactly what it feels like to get fucked twice in one night. Maybe more.

It’s heady. This is far from Evan's first time, but the thought that Tommy is the first to get a real dick into him is beyond intoxicating. Suddenly he’s close: very close. But he needs to watch Evan fall apart first.

He wraps his hand around Evan’s dick where it’s been bouncing against his stomach—untouched, weeping, dripping between them. Evan moans and his hips stutter, trying to find a new rhythm that allows him to fuck back onto Tommy’s dick and forward into his hand at the same time.

“Gonna come for me, sweet boy?” Tommy asks, voice low and encouraging. “Gonna show me how pretty you look coming on my cock?”

That’s all it takes. Evan throws his head back, his hips locking down as he squeezes around Tommy’s dick and comes hot and wet into his hand. For as vocal as Evan has been this whole time, he's completely silent when he comes: for a few seconds, he doesn't even breathe.

Evan looks perfect as he shudders through it. Perfect. He looks like he was made for this. His mouth is open as he gasps for breath and his muscles are flexing under his skin as he circles his hips a last few times. He’s just about glowing with exertion.

Tommy doesn’t know how he got this lucky, but he’s going to hold onto Evan with both hands for as long as he’ll let him.

It’s not a choice for Tommy to follow. He’s been on the edge since he first got inside of Evan, and the feeling of that perfect hole tightening around him has him groaning and coming harder than he has in decades.

He’s still seeing stars when Evan collapses on top of him. Tommy’s arms come up to hold him close; petting across his skin and accidentally smearing Evan’s own cum across his back.

“Fuck,” Tommy says.

It’s Evan’s turn to hide his face in Tommy’s neck. “Was that okay?” He asks, still panting. His breath is hot on Tommy’s neck.

Tommy wants to laugh. He wants to cry. Was that okay? God, the kid has no idea. No idea how good he is. No idea how earth-shatteringly hot that was. Tommy will have to work on that self-confidence. He’s gonna show Evan exactly how incredible he is. He’s gonna make him believe it.

“That was amazing,” Tommy says. “That was… fuck, it’s been years since I’ve had anything that good.”

Tommy can feel Evan’s smile where his mouth is pressed into Tommy’s neck. “Yeah?” He asks, almost shyly.

He fucked himself beautifully on Tommy’s dick and now he’s shy asking if it was up to Tommy’s standards?

“You were so good, sweet boy,” Tommy purrs.

Evan groans into Tommy’s neck and shifts his hips like he’s gearing up for round two already.

“I really like that,” Evan says.

“Which part?” Tommy asks.

“Both. All of it, fuck,” Evan mouths aimlessly at Tommy's neck. "You. I really like you."

He's slowly humping Tommy’s body, his dick twitching against Tommy’s own, but Tommy isn’t nearly young enough to be ready again yet. Neither is Evan, honestly, which makes this that much more interesting. He’s chasing pleasure that he knows isn’t going to get him anywhere, just to feel it.

If this was their first time—if this is Evan when he’s still a little shy, still in the dark about just how much Tommy wants him—Tommy knows he’s gonna have a hell of a time keeping up with him once they really get going.

Tommy is giddy at the prospect. He can’t fucking wait.

{ao3}

[penny-anna]

i put off watching the Swedish arena tour Jesus Christ Superstar bcos i wasn't sure abt watching an entire musical in a language i don't speak but it turns out i shouldn't have worried, i know the score well enough that following the action was a non-issue and the staging was worth it. it's here on Youtube free & legit. (in case it doesn't follow act 2 is here.)

couple of general thoughts on it:

i described it to my sister as having a goth rock aesthetic and then sent her a picture and she said they look like Abba. gothic Abba Jesus i guess gldjhgfjk

its got a very. happy Jesus? someone in the comments described him as a chaotic bisexual. a little jarring to me as i'm used to the 2000 version but then it registered with me like how hard he was gonna fall come act two and it was like. fucking ouch.

charmed & delighted by this Judas. what a sweetheart goth baby. never done anything wrong in his life. mesh shirt. 0 complaints here.

brutal climax. like this probably goes without saying but its an especially bloody one imo so watch out.

anyway yeah the shippers were right this one well worth it. had a blast.

[funnylittlelad]

Trailer Park Blues - Eddie Munson x Henderson!reader

Thank you for 100 followers! :)

Read on AO3

summary: You don't think much when you start letting Hellfire use your trailer for their meetings. Dustin asked and you caved, as per usual. What you weren't expecting was the rollercoaster ride that becomes your relationship with your little brother's best friend, Eddie Munson.

wordcount: 15.8k

tags/notes: SMUT (MDNI), gn!reader (nonbinary coded if you squint), reader is Dustin's older sibling, name-calling, degradation, hate fucking i'm ngl it's hate fucking, unprotected sex, power play, mentions of bad past relationships, queer eddie munson, talks about dead parents being dead

You might kill Dustin. The windows of your trailer are illuminated. He told you they’d all be gone by the time you got home from work. As you get closer to the door and hear the excited shouts you know that they’re all still here. You’re tired, you smell, and the last thing you want to do is look at a bunch of high schoolers playing some table top bullshit. 

“Dustin,” you shout as you swing the front door open.

 Everyone at the dining table jumps and snaps to look at you. When you enter your trailer you’re immediately met with a view of the living room to your right and the small kitchen to your left. Your table is in the middle, creating a makeshift dining area turned D&D area. 

The normal crew is there, Mike, Lucas, and Will. There are some new, and semi-new faces. The semi-new face is one you’ve seen, but never spoken to. Eddie Munson, four trailers down, and originally part of your graduating class. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of us!” Dustin exclaims, holding his heaving chest.

“You’re not supposed to be here for me to scare the shit out of,” you remind him, the annoyance evident. 

“I know, I’m sorry. We’re almost done, I promise. Can we please just finish?” he pleads with big eyes and a quivering lip. 

This fucking kid knows he has everyone in his life around his damn finger. You’d like to smack him.

“Fine, but you’re explaining to mom why you're not home yet,” you point at him as you speak. 

His face breaks into a smile. 

“You’re the best!”

“Call, now,” you order.

 When Dustin goes to the phone on the wall next to your fridge, you exit to the short hall. The company isn't going to stop you from showering. Eddie is frozen. His eyes follow you as you leave the room, mouth parted slightly. You barged in a little angry and it knocked him through a loop. His poor little bisexual heart felt ready to explode. You must get more shit than he does looking like that. Doesn't matter that you’re stunning, being the picture of androgyny in Hawkins can't be easy. He wants so badly to examine that picture up close and in detail. Dustin was right about one thing. Jesus Christ.

When the kid told Eddie they could use his sibling’s trailer Eddie was surprised to find he lived so close to a Henderson without realizing. Now, he really can't believe it. 

“Okay, let’s finish before I get my ass kicked,” Dustin says as he comes back to the table. 

Eddie snaps out of the trance he fell into.

“Uh-we can call it here,” Eddie says, sounding far away.

 The rest of the table balks at him.

“You’re calling the campaign early?” Dustin questions.

“When I asked if we could cut last week's campaign short you said you would strangle me with your bare hands,” Mike adds in disbelief. 

“We’re in the middle of a fight,” Will protests. 

The rest of the table starts voicing their own arguments creating a cacophony of disgruntled nerds. 

“Okay, okay,” Eddie gets loud to quiet down the table, “Dustin’s next in initiative.” 

The boys cheer triumphantly causing Eddie to smile. If his eyes keep darting to where you disappeared down the hall… Well, that’s his business. Your trailer is close to his in layout, but it’s much more well-kempt and put together. Makes sense since you live here alone and two grown men live in Eddie’s. 

When you reappear, toweling off your hair, they’re wrapping up. Your sweatpants that sit just below your belly button and short cropped shirt don't go unnoticed by Eddie. His eyes glide over your midriff and the soft dark hair that it's home to. It seems no matter what you’re in you remain more androgynous than Boy George.

 A trait that absolutely entices the queer disaster that is Eddie Munson. Dustin only ever uses sibling to talk about you. He doesn't use any language that would give any more away than your appearance does. It doesn't matter anyways, Eddie is infatuated regardless. Maybe even partially because of. 

The boys all throw you a goodbye as they exit until only Dustin and Eddie are left. Dustin is cleaning up any dishes or garbage left behind while Eddie packs up all the D&D materials. You didn't realize how much goes into this table top bullshit. Eddie has books, binders, and notebooks worth of information and ideas. There's stats and prices of various items on the screen he puts up so no one can peek at his notes. Then there's the velvet drawstring bag of different shaped dice. Shapes you’ve never even seen dice come in before. 

“How long were you guys playing for?” you ask the two of them from where you lean against the counter. 

You don't know what time they got started, just that they were supposed to be gone when you got home.

“Six hours,” Dustin says sheepishly.

“Six hours?” 

“It took longer than expected,” he shrugs with an apologetic smile.

You chuckle and shake your head. Your eyes flicker over to Eddie, catching him staring at you with wide dark eyes. Once your gaze meets his he looks down and hurries to finish packing up. You choose to disregard it. Eddie Munson can eat dirt if he thinks he's in any position to judge you. If only you knew he wasn't judging you, he was admiring you.

“It’s getting late. Do you want to just spend the night? I don't like the idea of you biking home when it's this dark out,” you say to Dustin softly. 

You don't have a car of your own to drive him. Since everything that happened with Will… Yeah, he’s definitely not biking home alone at night. 

“I can bring him,” Eddie offers as he zips up his bag.

“You can bring him?” You question thinking about the death trap of a van you’ve seen him drive. 

Somehow, that feels even worse. 

“Yeah, I can bring him,” he repeats and finally meets your eyes again.

 He sees the distrust, the anxiety. It hits him in the gut. 

“That’s okay, he can just spend the night,” you refuse him politely. 

“How d’you think he got here in the first place?” Eddie asks with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.

 Your nostrils flare a little at the smugness.

“Then I should consider myself lucky he’s still in one piece,” you shoot back. 

Eddie dramatically grabs his stomach and doubles over with a grunt as if he has just been punched.

“You hurt me, Henderson,” he huffs as he looks up at you from his bent state. 

A smile grows on his face when he sees you fighting off your own. 

“Hello, I’m right here, y’know,” Dustin looks between the two of you exasperatedly, “I can go with Eddie.”

“Dust-”

“I can go with Eddie,” he cuts you off to repeat himself. 

You exhale sharply through your nose. The two of you glare at each other for a moment. You still lean against the counter while Dustin stands beside the table. Eddie watches from where he stands on the opposite side of the table. Then your smoldering gaze turns to Eddie, stopping his breathing.

“Do the speed limit,” your voice is even, but so stern that all Eddie can do is nod. 

He swallows the lump that forms in his throat as a result.

“Cross my heart,” he uses his pointer finger to draw an X over his heart. 

Dustin hugs you goodbye. You make him promise to call tomorrow. Eddie gives you one last wide eyed look, a small smile plays on his lips. Then you’re finally alone. You love having Dustin over, but you’re also glad to have peace and quiet. 

You moved out a few short months after graduation. Your overbearing mother proved too much to continue living with. Dustin was pissed at first. He came around when he realized it meant having a space to escape to and be himself. Something you're more than happy to provide for him. 

He was thrilled to learn that Eddie lives only four trailers away from you. When Dustin asked if Hellfire could meet at your place to continue a campaign they had started you agreed for this one time. Even when you said it, you had a feeling Dustin will end up begging for 

more and you’ll end up caving. The kid really does have everyone wrapped around his finger. Eddie included it seems.

“So, are they always so…,” Eddie struggles to finish his question as he drives through Hawkins. 

Hot, breathtaking, pulse pounding, awestriking. He can't really say any of that to Dustin. 

“Protective?” Dustin offers.

“Protective works,” Eddie nods. 

Not exactly what he was thinking, but that applies too.

“Pretty much.” 

“How long have they lived in Forest Hills?” He tries to keep his tone casual, but ends up sounding just a little too interested. 

He can feel Dustin’s eyes burning into the side of his head. 

“Year and a half,” Dustin answers.

“So they're… nineteen?”

“Twenty.” 

Eddie glances over at Dustin. He looks one part irritated and two parts suspicious. Eddie adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. 

“Wait, we were in the same grade?” Eddie asks, surprised.

“You were supposed to be,” Dustin ribs. 

“You wanna walk from here, Henderson?”

“You wanna get murdered?” 

Eddie shoots him a glare knowing he’s right. His threat is hollow with you around. If you found out he let Dustin walk halfway home he’s sure he wouldn't see morning. 

“Why are you asking?” Dustin inquired after a moment of silence. Eddie shrugs.

“Just curious.”

“Uh-huh,” Dustin sounds entirely unconvinced.

“Whatever,” Eddie mutters to himself. He pushes you out of his mind and focuses on driving. 

He can feel Dustin’s occasional glances. The younger Henderson has clocked his strange demeanor, he knows it. It’s not hard. He isn't as goofy or teasing. He’s more lost in thought than he'd like. He just doesn't know how he's never noticed you before. How has he never noticed the one person in Hawkins that seems to tick every single fucking box he could possibly have? 

***

The next time Eddie sees you it’s raining. The weather is only noteable because he sees you walking home with no umbrella. He catches you as you make it under the awning of the movie theater. It gives you temporary shelter from the pounding of the rain. Eddie pulls over to the curb in front of you. He had been going to the store to grab some munchies, but that’s something he can do later. 

You eye his van curiously. He doesn’t bother with his hazards. Cars go around him without issue. He leans over and cranks the window down.

“You need a ride?” he calls out.

“I’m good, thanks,” you call back.

“Seriously? You’ll catch your death walking all the way to Forest Hills in this. Just get in.”

You sigh, but do as he says. It's not like you want to walk in the rain. Keeping a distance from Eddie just felt like the right thing to do. He gives you a feeling in your gut you can't quite place. He always has. Is it possible to admire someone and not like them?

“Thanks,” you say as you close the door. 

You’re shivering as you drip on his seat.

“Yeah, no problem,” Eddie says as he blasts the heat. 

His typically loud music is soft as he drives. Something you appreciate. Work was a headache. Having to walk home in the rain was a pain in the ass. A pain in the ass Eddie has luckily saved you from.

“Where d’you work, anyways?” he asks after a few minutes.

“I’m a manager over at the general store.”

“Shit, really? I steal-I mean I-uh go there all the time,” Eddie doesn’t course correct quite fast enough. 

To his surprise, you laugh. It’s a nice sound. Calming like the rain is when you aren't stranded in it.

“I’ll remember that next time I see you in there.”

There’s a comfortable silence after that. Eddie is actually a better driver than you assumed. It makes you feel a little better about Dustin driving around with him. You don't even notice you've stopped shivering. The van is warming you up, but you’re still soaked. 

“Sorry about your seats, by the way,” you say.

“Eh, it’s just some water. These seats have seen worse,” he shrugs.

You grimace in disgust.

“Like what?” 

Eddie lets out a hearty laugh.

“Probably better you don’t know.”

“Jesus, you’re nasty, Munson,” your laughter betrays you. 

“Oh, you have no idea, Henderson.”

Another round of comfortable silence as Forest Hills comes into view. You expect Eddie to park at his trailer. You don't mind walking the short distance to your own. Instead he pulls right up to your door. 

“Seriously thank you, Eddie,” you give him a smile.

“Don’t worry about it. If- y'know, if you need a ride again you can give me a call.”

“Sounds like you’re just looking for an excuse to give me your phone number,” you tease.

Eddie chuckles.

“Two birds, one stone,” he smiles.

“You’ll need to try harder than that, Munson. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” You flash him a smile and then you’re gone.

Only the wet imprint of your ass lets him know you were ever really there in the first place.

***

“Please,” Dustin pleads over the phone. You sigh.

“Dustin, it’s my day off. I don't want to sit here and listen to you guys for six hours,” you tell him.

“We’ll only be an hour, two tops.”

“Dustin-”

“I can stay over after and we can hang out. We’ll watch E.T.,” he sweetens the pot. 

He knows that's your favorite movie and he knows you’re a sucker for quality time with him. Little asshole.

“Fine, but you only get two hours before I kick everyone out.”

“Three?”

“Two and a half.”

“Thank you, you're the best, bye!” he hangs up before you have a chance to change your mind. You chuckle and shake your head.

Two and a half hours stuck in your room isn't too bad. Besides, you’re not really stuck. You just don't want to get in the way, or listen on in utter confusion. You know a little about D&D from Dustin talking about it, but not enough to follow. Sure you’ll pop out to grab a drink, maybe something to eat, but overall you intend to stay removed. 

Part of you wants to stay away from Eddie. You know he’ll just start flirting and you'll be too weak to stop it. Too weak to resist giving it right back to him. It shouldn't surprise you when Eddie is the first to show an hour later, but it does. He gives a quick rhythmic knock on your door. 

“I'm surprised you made it so early. I know the commute is killer,” you quip when you see him standing outside the screen door. 

With a grin, Eddie braces his lower back beneath his old bookbag and leans into his hands a bit to dramatize discomfort.

“Yeah, my back is killing me from the long drive over,” he makes a face as he jokes to drive it home. 

You chuckle and push the screen door open to let him in.

“Dustin isn't here yet,” you tell him as he enters.

 He pauses just inside the doorway leaving him so close to you his body heat reaches the skin of your arms.

“I can come back,” he says and begins to turn.

“No, it's alright. He should be here soon. I’m assuming you need to get set up or something?” you tilt your head toward the cleared off dining table. He nods and you hold your arm out to tell him he’s welcome to continue inside. 

You watch him make his way to the table. Something about the way he’s joking back with you makes you wonder if you had things wrong. Maybe he wasn't flirting in the van the other day. Maybe it was just friendly banter. 

“Thanks for letting us play here. We usually use the drama room, but they’ve needed it more with that stupid musical coming up,” Eddie says as he opens his bag and begins to pull things out.

“Let me guess, Grease?” you shut the door and find your place on the couch.

 Eddie glances at you with an amused smirk.

“Sure is.”

“Figures. Thank God Dustin isn't a theater kid. I don't think I could sit through that every year,” you chuckle.

 Eddie’s smile is curious, maybe even a bit nervous. You're watching him and it makes his movements just a little less sure. 

“Instead you get a bunch'a freaks playing D&D at your table.”

“You calling my brother a freak, Munson?” There’s an edge to your words. 

Eddie’s eyes get wide.

“Uh- no, I-”

“I’m just kidding, calm down,” you laugh, “it’s okay, he is a freak. Besides, I don't think you’d ever be mean to Dustin.”

“Why’s that?”

“He worships the ground you walk on. If you were ever mean to him your uncle would need to pull dental records to identify you,” you say it light heartedly with a smile.

 Your voice and expression don't match the vicious threat. Eddie’s heart thumps hard as he spreads out the battle map.

“You’re a little scary, y’know that?”

“How else am I supposed to keep you in line?” 

Heat crawls up Eddie’s neck. His throat dries and he clumsily knocks into his DM screen. It clatters flat onto the table. You watch on in amusement as he fumbles with it. He’s flustered. A fact that goes straight to your ego. Eddie is Dustin’s friend so you had no plans to actually be mean or rude to him. Admittedly, your brother is pretty good at picking people. Even if others don't see what he does in those people. 

Is flustering Eddie by accident mean or rude? Is continuing to do it because you like that you can? 

“How is it I’ve never seen you around before?” Eddie asks once the DM screen is back up the way he wants it. 

“You have, you just never noticed,” you shrug.

“Trust me, I would have noticed you,” he glances at you as he says it. 

When he sees your attention is already on him, he quickly moves on to digging out the miniatures he brought. 

“Trust me, you wouldn't have. I haven't always been this comfortable dressing and existing how I want. Not everyone can be Eddie Munson,” you give him a small smile.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he pauses setting up to look at you. 

He half expects insults to start being hurled at him.

“You’ve always been yourself. Even when it would be easier to be someone else. I’ve always admired that about you. It took me a long time to be that brave,” you answer genuinely. 

His face reddens and his eyes nearly strike you down where you sit. They’re big, as always, and the distinct brown of them swims in an emotion you can't place. Eddie’s heart is in his throat. He knows he’s attracted to you physically, but you might have just sunk a hook in him emotionally. Whether you meant to or not, you nearly destroyed him with your words. He can't remember the last time someone has said such nice things to his face. 

“Always, huh? You been watching me, Henderson?” he bounces back, diffusing his own feelings with the joke. 

You shrug with an innocent smile.

“You make it hard not to.”

Eddie’s face somehow gets even hotter. He might need to peel off his jacket if this keeps up. As he struggles to come up with a response to that, Dustin bursts in. The large smile on his face drops when he sees the flustered state of Eddie. His eyes travel back and forth between the two of you.

“What’s happening?” he asks

“Just getting to know your friend,” you shrug casually. 

Traces of that smile can still be found on your face. That's when Eddie knows you’re doing it on purpose. You saw how flustered you made him and decided to keep going. He’s not sure if he hates you or just fell in love with you. 

“Right,” Dustin says, completely unconvinced. 

“Okay, well, I’ll make myself scarce before the rest of the nerds get here. Remember, two and a half hours, Dustin,” you point at him as you rise from the couch. 

“I know, I know.”

Eddie watches you disappear down the hall. His eyes stay on the beginning of the hallway until he hears your bedroom door click shut. Then he finally looks at the boy in front of him. Dustin has narrowed eyes on Eddie.

“What?” Eddie asks defensively and continues emptying his bag. 

“You tell me,” Dustin crosses his arms.

“I don't know what you mean,” Eddie lies as he spreads out his reference materials and notes behind the screen.

“Bullshit.”

“We were just talking.”

Before Dustin can pry further the rest of the boys start piling in. Mike, Lucas, and Will are confident just walking in like they live there. Jeff and Gareth follow with more hesitation. Eddie happily dives in once everyone is settled at the table. Happy to continue the campaign and happy to avoid talking about you further with Dustin. He’s not sure how the younger Henderson will take his burgeoning crush. 

Around thirty minutes into their gameplay you appear for a drink. You notice immediately that Eddie becomes distracted when you pop into the kitchen. Eddie’s eyes track you the entire way as the others discuss their next move. You catch his gaze when you turn around from the fridge. Before he can try to act like he wasn't staring, you smirk. Then you’re taking a nice long drink from your can of coke. Eddie swallows, watching you, Adam's apple bobbing as he tries to regain the ability to speak. 

“Eddie,” Dustin waves his hand in front of Eddie’s eyes.

 Eddie blinks back into the game, feeling like he traveled a million light years and back. Dustin glances over his shoulder to where Eddie had been zoned off staring. You give your brother a small wave when he sees you. His eyebrows furrowed as he looks back to Eddie who is trying desperately to get back on track. Eddie hazards one more quick look at you. You throw him a wink as you make your exit. On their way back to the table in front of him, his eyes meet Dustin’s.

“What the hell was that?” Dustin questions.

“That was Mike getting knocked prone,” Eddie answers and reaches over his screen to knock Mike’s miniature on its side. 

“You’re deflecting,” Mike says smugly, happy to have some retribution for the hit Eddie’s NPC made on his character. 

“Uh, no, I’m DM-ing,” he makes a sweeping gesture to the layout in front of him.

“Holy shit, Eddie has a crush,” Lucas realizes out loud. 

Dustin groans.

“Are we gonna have to stop playing here?” Will asks genuinely.

 Will is the only one Eddie can consider innocent here. The rest of them earn a glare. 

“I don't know, Eddie, will we?” Dustin sasses with a pointed look at Eddie.

“No, we won't. We only have a couple hours here, can we get back to the fucking game?” Eddie snaps them back into focus. 

An hour goes by and you’re back. This time Eddie is able to drag his gaze away from where you’re digging around in a cabinet. You have to reach up in a way that exposes the skin of your stomach. A silky stripe of skin and some tufts of dark hair between your too small shirt and sweatpants. 

Instead of allowing himself to get distracted by you again, he starts putting on more of a show. His movements become more dramatic, he throws himself more fully into the voices he’s doing, and overall amping up the theatrics. He figures if you admire him always being himself, he'll dial himself up to ten. 

You find yourself leaning against the counter with a bag of chips in your hand watching. No one else seems to have noticed your arrival. They’re too taken in by the narrative Eddie is weaving. You can't blame them. Eddie puts his full body into it. After a couple minutes he lets the group deliberate their next move. His eyes flicker over to you again, a smirk on his face. The eye contact jolts you from whatever weird fog you’d fallen into watching him. As you make your leave you see the quick wink Eddie tosses your way. 

Your heart is loud in your ears when you shut your door. Oh, it’s on, Munson, you think to yourself. If there's one thing you are, it's competitive. It’s clear you fluster Eddie, which means there’s some type of attraction there. Truthfully, you’re attracted to him too. You always have been. His authenticity and ability to stay true to himself have always drawn you in. Now that you can tell he’s into this too, you’re ready to have fun with it. The two of you have officially entered a little game and you refuse to lose.

 An old pair of shorts is your next move. They’re Hawkins High green with white trim and stripes up the side of each leg. They’re long enough to cover everything, but short enough to draw attention. You give it another fifteen minutes before re-emerging. When you do so you fan yourself with your hand to pretend your room is hot. Without looking to see if Eddie has noticed you bend at the hips to start peering in the fridge. You look innocuous enough searching for a water bottle to cool down. Then you hear a clattering, a few shouts, and fumbling.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses. 

You turn around with a water bottle pressed to your forehead. Everyone, but Eddie, is frantically looking for something on the floor. A small red pointy looking die sits in front of you on the linoleum, a black number twenty facing up. You pluck it off the floor and hold it up lazily. 

“You guys looking for this?” you ask. A couple of them hit their heads on the table on their way up. 

When they see the D20 between your fingers they swarm you. Suddenly you’re trapped against the fridge by several manic nerds. Dustin grabs the sides of your upper arms. 

“Did you see what it landed on?” He all but demands. 

You shove him off and push through them. Eddie remains seated at the table watching with huge eyes. 

“First off, whose is it?” you ask.

“Mine,” Eddie’s voice wavers just a bit on the single syllable. 

With a bright smile you walk it over to him. He looks up at you when you’re next to the table, face getting more and more red. You place the D20 down in front of him, black twenty still up. His mouth parts slightly as if to say something, but nothing comes out. You have him all lined up where you want him. Now, you just have to make the goal by brandishing some of the only D&D knowledge Dustin has imparted on you.

“Natural twenty,” you say, your smile curling into something more mischievous, “Congrats on the crit.”

Eddie continues blinking his wide dark eyes at you. The rest of the boys groan behind you. Whatever Eddie just rolled for clearly isn't good for them. They all take their seats again. 

“You couldn't have lied?” Dustin huffs comically.

“And rob your DM of his roll? Never,” you chuckle. 

You lift his hat, ruffle his hair, and walk off. Eddie gapes after you, heart absolutely pounding. He won't be able to stand the rest of the game. His jeans got a little tighter when he saw you bent over in those fucking shorts, distracting him mid roll. It only got worse when you walked over his D20, looked down at him like you know the hold you have, and congratulated him on his nat twenty.  

“I think he’s drooling,” Mike’s voice pulls Eddie back to the table.

“He’s speechless,” Gareth adds.

“I’m not speechless. I'm contemplating.”

“Contemplating what?” Lucas questions unconvinced.

“How exactly I want this nat twenty to fuck up your day.”

You don't make another appearance until their time is up. By the time you make it out there it's just Dustin and Eddie. Dustin is on his knees in the living room looking through the different VHS tapes you have in a milk crate. Eddie is packing away all his stuff neatly. 

“How’d it go?” you ask them as you plop down onto your couch. 

Dustin launches into an excited and detailed account of the game. Eddie expects you to tell him to calm down, that you don't need a play by play of every second. You don't. Instead you listen encouragingly, ask questions for clarification, and let Dustin rattle on. 

“Sounds like you did a good job with this one, Dungeon Master,” you say to Eddie with a smile. 

His heart skips. 

“Even I have my days,” he shoots you a smile in return as he zips up his bag. 

“Yeah? Maybe one of these days you’ll be able to keep your dice on the table,” you tease. 

Dustin watches the two of you and it clicks. At first he thought Eddie was just taking a morbid interest. You’ve had plenty of that. Guys in Hawkins like experimenting, toeing the line you ride between genders, and then denying anything ever happened when they come to their senses. He didn't want to think Eddie would be like that, but as protective as you are of Dustin he is of you. The way you prop your chin on your hand and lean on the arm of the couch toward Eddie finally clues Dustin in. You're into Eddie too. 

“Eddie, you should stay and watch E.T. with us,” Dustin interjects. 

Your eyes dart to him curiously. 

“I promised Wayne I'd be home by eight. Next time, alright?” Eddie swings his bag over his shoulder. 

Dustin is disappointed, but doesn't put up a fight. Eddie knew he wouldn't last through a movie with you. Not if earlier was any indication of what you’re capable of doing to him. Not with Dustin around. As disappointed as you might be, you’re also relieved. If Eddie sat next to you the movie would have been forgotten immediately. You and Dustin bid Eddie farewell and start the movie.

Dustin is knocked out on the couch by the end of it. You throw the soft blanket you keep in the living room over him. It’s too early for you to be tired. You take to cleaning up a little, grabbing what Dustin missed when cleaning up after the campaign. When you go to toss the little bits of trash in the garbage can you find it full. You roll your eyes knowing full well Dustin left it like this for you when he could have taken it out. 

The outside air nips at your exposed legs. It’s a short walk to the dumpster, but in the dark it can be creepy. Forest Hills isn't the most lit up place at night. You hurry to toss the bag into the dumpster.

“Come here often?”

The voice startles you. You whip around with a small yelp. Eddie stands before you with a garbage bag in his hand and a teasing smirk on his face. When you realize it's him you recover quickly.

“Only when I’m hoping to see you,” you tease as you step out of his way. He tosses his own bag in the dumpster and turns to face you.

“You callin’ me trash, Henderson?” He raises his eyebrows.

“I didn't say that, but if that's what you took from it…” you smile playfully. 

He shakes his head chuckling.

“You're kinda mean,” Eddie points at you as he says it. 

“Am I?” You ask, taking a step forward. 

There's a foot of space between you and Eddie. You can see his breathing stutter in his chest. 

“Yeah, but I like it,” he admits quietly, heart pounding. 

You smile and take another step forward. You’re fully in Eddie’s space now. He can't even tell if he’s still breathing. You’re still in those fucking shorts, you're openly flirting with him, and you’re so god damn close. He might just die on the spot.

“Do you?” You're torturing him now.

 He knows it. You know it.

“Now you’re just tryna get me to say nice things about you,” he teases with a smirk. 

How he’s maintaining any amount of composure is beyond him. Maybe God is real and right now Eddie is His favorite little soldier.

“Is that so hard?”

“No, not when you're wearing those.”

He nods down to your shorts. You laugh, placing a hand on the breast of his jean vest over his leather jacket. 

“I thought you’d like’em.”

“You were right.”

“I’m glad I dug them out for you then,” you smirk, toying with one of the many pins on his vest. 

“You- for me?” Eddie sputters not expecting the bold statement.

 Light teasing and flirting, sure, but not that.

“You’re really surprised?” you chuckle.

“I mean, yeah,” he shrugs lamely. His composure is quickly slipping.

“Then you haven't been paying attention very well,” you chide playfully. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes. 

Before you can say another word, Eddie breaks. He grabs the sides of your face and crashes his lips into yours. You grasp onto the denim of his vest as you melt into it. His lips are warm, urgent, and a little sloppy with desperation. The kiss sends a thrill through your entire body. It’s only when he pulls away that you remember where you are. Outside at night kissing Eddie Munson next to the fucking dumpster. Are you sixteen again? 

You just look into each other's eyes for a second. Eddie’s face is still just inches away from yours. His pupils are blown to shit and you're sure yours are too. You drag him forward again by the grip on his vest. This time your other hand finds a home in his coarse wavy to curly hair. He moans into your mouth as your hold on his hair tightens. You give a surprised groan when his hand grabs your ass. He rides the shorts up just enough for him to brush against the skin they once covered. 

It takes an extreme amount of effort to pull away. Somehow, you manage. Both of you are breathing heavily. After a second of just studying each other's face, you shake your head with a smile.

“I better get going before I try to jump your bones in the dumpster,” you say, but don't move. 

“Maybe you can jump my bones another time,” Eddie suggests with a smile. 

You chuckle.

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Aren't you eager,” you tease.

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I guess not.”

He gives you an expectant stare. You pretend to think his offer over. 

“Okay, tomorrow. Dustin should be gone by one,” you nod. 

Eddie fights off a groan. He forgot about the Dustin of it all. Maybe this isn't a good idea. Maybe he should call the whole thing off. 

“See you tomorrow,” he says instead. 

“I look forward to it,” you smile and leave him.

 He watches you walk back to your trailer. Without you pressed against him, he’s suddenly cold. He jogs back to his own trailer still in disbelief. His thoughts are spinning. One thing is for sure, his dreams are going to be full of you tonight.

***

Eddie’s fist hovers by the door for a second. This is his last chance to back out. It’s his last chance to turn around and avoid any awkward confrontation with Dustin later. Eddie cares about that kid’s opinion of him far too much. Once he has the thought to leave, he gives a quick rhythmic knock. 

“Eddie?” Dustin questions when he opens the door, “What are you doing here?” 

Eddie struggles for something to say. Dustin is supposed to be gone. 

“Oh, Eddie left his dice. I gave him a call last night,” your voice calls from deeper in the trailer. 

The lie is easy and smooth.

“So, you gonna let me in or what?” Eddie jerks his chin up at Dustin. 

His hands are shoved into the pockets of his vest. The left one is wrapped around the condom he brought just in case you didn't have any. He’s almost afraid if he lets go it’ll fall out and Dustin will have more questions. 

Dustin pushes the screen door open to let Eddie in. When he enters he sees you standing over the kitchen sink. You shoot him an apologetic look over your shoulder. He returns it with a small understanding smile. Clearly, you hadn't planned on Dustin still being here either. You turn off the water, dry your hands on a nearby towel, and face him from the kitchen.

“I have the dice in my room,” you tilt your head toward the hallway. 

You lead Eddie to your bedroom. It’s at the end of the short hall, similar to his own. An unmade full bed is pushed into the far corner under the singular window. A dresser sits in the opposite corner with a couple framed pictures on top and what looks like a small silver urn. The wall behind your bed is adorned with an intricate forest green tapestry with the tree of life on it. 

“I’m so sorry,” you begin in a hushed voice.

“S’alright,” Eddie assures you.

“He decided to stay and I couldn't exactly tell him no,” you explain anxiously.

“It’s really alright, Henderson,” he gives you a reassuring smile. 

Your heart skips a beat. Part of you feared he’d be pissed. There have been plenty of guys in the past whose tempers were as short as their sexuality was confusing. Eddie notices the way you relax when you accept his words.

“Well, you’re welcome to hang out as long as you’d like,” you tell him.

“Maybe I should go. This probably wasn't a good idea anyway,” he says with a quick look over his shoulder. 

Dustin is still in the living room, Eddie can hear the tv. When his eyes turn back to you, your whole demeanor has changed. Your face is suddenly unreadable. Your stance is closed off. 

“Yeah, maybe you're right,” your voice is cold.

 Eddie starts internally panicking. Clearly he said the wrong thing, but he doesn't know what. 

“It’s not you,” he rushes to explain, “it’s Dustin.”

You roll your eyes.

“Don't use my brother as an excuse for whatever sexuality struggle you're having,” you whisper harshly.

Eddie’s hands find either side of his head. His fingers sink into his hair as he tries to understand how this situation turned on him. 

“I’m not having a sexuality struggle,” he argues, frustration beginning to bubble up.

“Whatever, Eddie. I’ve been through this too many times.”

“Through what? You're not actually fucking talking to me. Just talk to me,” he gestured wildly in the air, shaking his hands in a pleading motion. 

“Through assholes chatting me up, making me feel special, like maybe someone actually fucking likes me. Only to find out I was nothing but a novelty. I don't know why I thought you could be any different,” you explain bitterly with a shake of your head.

Eddie runs a hand over his face as he processes. Your words sting. They burn tiny lacerations into his skin. I don't know why I thought you could be any different. He never thought he'd be compared to the rest of Hawkins, always an outlier. You’re grouping him in with probably the worst Hawkins has to offer. Now that really fucking hurts.

“I do actually fucking like you. Why can't you get it's more complicated than that?” 

“Oh, I get it. You can't figure out what you’re feeling and you’re afraid it’ll make you gay. So, test it out with me and then move the fuck on like nothing ever happened,” you say while crossing your arms. You fold in on yourself, becoming smaller and smaller before Eddie’s eyes.

“I am gay-I mean not gay gay but-fuck,” Eddie struggles. 

The heels of his hands dig into his eyes as he tries to collect his racing thoughts.

“Just go, Eddie. We can pretend this never happened,” your voice is low, almost a rumble. 

“Will you just listen to me?” he demands frustratedly, voice raised. 

“Is everything alright?” Dustin appears in the open doorway. 

His face is full of concern and confusion. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine, Dust. Eddie was just leaving.”

Eddie gives you a desperate look. He pleads with those big brown eyes. When it's clear you’re done and this conversation isn't going any further he sighs.

“See you later, Henderson,” he mumbles as he pushes past Dustin. 

You’re not really sure which one of you it's directed at. Eddie isn't either.

***

You actively avoid Eddie the following week. It’s painfully obvious. He wants a chance to grab you. To talk to you and explain the misunderstanding. He's beginning to think you can sense that and that's why you’ve been so slippery as of late. The only time he really could is when you’re on your way to work, but he doesn't want to do that. He doesn't want to make you late or upset you before a shift. 

Dustin opens the door the next time Eddie knocks. You’re still letting them play in your trailer, but you haven't been home the last couple sessions. He does his best not to let it bother him. It's fucking hard when Dustin keeps giving him these watchful, curious looks. Almost like he’s trying to decipher what happened just by studying Eddie’s face. These looks are peppered throughout the entire campaign, exhausting Eddie.

It feels like fate when you come home as he’s packing up. He gives you an unsure smile. You return it and go into your room. That’s something. That’s progress. At the end of the day, Eddie doesn't want you thinking so low of him. He hates knowing you think he'd use you as an experiment. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a piece of shit. 

“Dustin, if you need a ride home Steve is stopping by in a few minutes,” you call out from your bedroom.

When you walk back out you’re in a pair of dark blue shorts that fall to your mid-thigh, and a baggy white muscle shirt. You catch the expression Eddie was making before he managed to wipe it off his face. You pause between the kitchen and the front door. 

“What?” you question a little aggressively.

Eddie holds his hands up to his chest in surrender. The unwarranted attitude automatically sets him off.

“Put the gun away, jeez. I didn't know you’re friends with Harrington is all,” Eddie snaps back defensively. 

“Okay, what the fuck is going on between you guys? I thought you liked each other,  but now you’re acting like you hate each other,” Dustin interrupts exasperated. 

“Shut up,” the two of you say in unison.

Your head snaps to Eddie.

“Did you just tell my brother to shut up, Munson?” you demand. 

“You did too!”

“Because he’s my brother. Who the fuck are you to talk to him that way?” 

“Will you calm down?” Dustin demands.

“Dust-”

“No, this is so stupid. What happened?”

You grit your teeth. A sharp exhale exits your flared nostrils. Your eyes flicker to Eddie for a second. His face is red with frustration, his eyebrows are set, and his mouth is a thin line. You look back to Dustin's confused face.

“Jason,” you state flatly.

“Jason?” Eddie questions, absolutely bewildered.

Dustin’s face drops. His eyes squeeze shut as he sighs. You watch him slowly turn to look at Eddie. Eddie’s stomach sinks when he sees Dustin’s broken expression.

“Eddie, you didn't,” he pleads softly. 

Eddie’s eyes fly furiously between you and Dustin. He’s trying to grasp what the fuck is happening. Why did you bring up Jason? Why is Dustin looking at him like that?

“Didn’t what? What’s going on?” he asks, absolutely lost.

“You should go,” Dustin answers solemnly. 

“Jesus Christ, you fucking Hendersons don't know how to have a conversation to save your lives,” Eddie grumbles as he continues packing up his stuff.

“What’s that, Munson?” You demand, stepping forward.

“C’mon, don’t-” Dustin starts.

“Dustin, go wait outside,” you order without looking at him.

Your glare remains firmly on Eddie. Eddie who is glaring firmly back, only the battle map left on the table. 

“I’m not gonna wa-”

“Outside, now.”

Dustin huffs, but ultimately listens. Once the door is slammed shut behind him you march up to Eddie. Eddie backs up, but you don't stop. Soon his back hits the wall and there’s nowhere else to go. You stop directly in front of him and start aggressively poking his chest.

“Let’s get something fucking straight, Munson. If you’re going to be using my home for your stupid fucking childish fantasy game you're not going to talk about Dustin or me that way, got it?” you spat.

“Oh, now it's a stupid fucking childish fantasy game. That’s rich. You didn’t seem to think that when you were drooling over me DMing.” Eddie counters, still holding up his facade of confidence despite being cornered. 

“Please, don’t flatter yourself,” you scoff.

“I’m not. It’s pretty fucking clear you’re into me, sweetheart.”

“Yeah? And what are you? Completely indifferent? You get a hard on just from seeing me in shorts. You're pathetic.”

Eddie wants to be hurt. He wants to be hurt so fucking bad. His body has other plans in response to your words, though. Fire spreads to every limb. He has half a mind to bend you over the table right now and show you just how pathetic he is. He’s ready to make you an incoherent mewling mess so he can lean down and whisper who’s pathetic now? into your ear. 

“And you’re a fucking tease,” he snaps instead. 

“Holy shit,” you laugh sarcastically, “You’re getting turned on right now, aren't you?”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

“Me? Munson, you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

The front door slams open. You whip around and Eddie’s eyes snap up to the door. Steve is standing there with his hands on his hips, looking completely unimpressed. 

“Alright, kids, what seems to be the problem here?” Steve asks.

He steps into the trailer with Dustin at his heels. Both you and Eddie are red, breathing heavily, and still standing within an inch of each other. 

“Steve, can you just bring Dustin home, please?” you try to sound less irritated, but it doesn't work very well.

“Okay, well, one, you said I could borrow your blue jacket. And two, I’m not going anywhere until you two explain what the fuck is going on.”

“Nothing, I’m just dealing with Jason Junior over here,” you answer, crossing your arms. 

Steve’s head lolls back briefly in exasperation.

“God, Eddie, not you too,” he groans. 

“Not me too, what? Can you guys stop being so fucking cryptic and tell me what you mean?” Eddie demands.

He’s absolutely over being compared to Jason out of everyone. You huff and walk away. The three of them watch you wander into your room and then back out. You throw the blue bomber jacket at Steve. He catches it with a frown.

“Everyone just get the fuck out of my house,” you grumble and stomp back to your room.

The door slams with such force Eddie is surprised he doesn't hear the wood splinter. All three boys flinch at the sound. Eddie scoffs to himself and starts to barge out. Steve stands in front of the door, blocking Eddie’s way.

“Move, Harrington,” Eddie orders.

“Not until you tell me what all that was about, Munson.”

“Can we do this outside?” Dustin interjects.

The three of them leave the trailer. You’re left alone in your room with nothing, but endless silence. Endless silence and that heavy feeling you get in your stomach whenever you just get done ruining everything. 

“Okay, can someone please tell me what the fuck all this Jason bullshit is about?” Eddie turns on Dustin and Steve once they’re a good few feet from the trailer.

Steve and Dustin exchange a look that Eddie doesn't like. They’re both privy to something about you that Eddie isn't. It’s not surprising, but it's surely irritating. Especially when everyone is talking about it like he knows too. 

“You remember that black eye Jason had inexplicably about four months ago?” Steve sighs.

“Yeah, it was a helluva shiner.”

“I gave him that.”

Eddie spends a moment just blinking. How is this relevant?

“Okay…” Eddie trails off, shaking his head to tell Steve to continue. 

“I gave him that because he’s a little prick that really fucked’em over,” Steve continued with a gesture over his shoulder at your trailer. 

“Wait… Jason? They were with Jason?” Eddie questions in disbelief. 

“Yeah, behind locked doors. Until Jason was done playing queer and got with Chrissy without saying anything,” Dustin says bitterly.

Hearing queer from Dustin’s mouth kinda stung Eddie, he won't lie. He knows Dustin meant it in a sexuality way, not derogatory. Something he likely picked up from you. Still, there’s something about someone decidedly straight saying it. 

“When they confronted him about it he… He said some not very nice things. It really fucked with them. Like really fucked with them. I mean he wasn't the first one to do something like that, but he was the worst one,” Steve explained, sounding irritated at the memory.

“I still don't get what that has to do with me,” Eddie rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“You tell us,” Dustin crosses his arms.

“I don't fucking know.”

“Just tell us what happened between the two of you,” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose, a hand in his hip.

Eddie tucks his hands in his armpits. He spends too long looking between Dustin and Steve. He really doesn't want to do this. He really really doesn't want to do this, but he also doesn't want to be put in the same league as fucking Jason. Frustrated that he’s backed into a corner for the second time today, Eddie wets his lips with his tongue.

“Fine, fine. We’ve been flirting. Last week we made out a little- the night you guys watched E.T.. I was supposed to come over the next day after you were gone so we could… y’know,” Eddie gestures awkwardly with his hands.

Both Dustin and Steve let out an ew.

“Yeah, anyway. You were still there. When we were talking in their room I said that maybe it's for the better that we didn't do anything. After that… I dunno what happened exactly. They started going on about me having a sexuality crisis, which isn't what was happening. I was just worried you would be pissed at me if we did do something,” Eddie finishes explaining. 

Dustin and Steve exchange a look again. Eddie hates this. He hates feeling put under a microscope. He hates that you’ve turned on him so quickly. 

“You sure you weren’t… experimenting?” Steve asks, jerking his chin up at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I got experimenting out of my system a long time ago, alright? I know who and what I like.”

Steve nods and rubs his jaw in contemplation. He glances once more at Dustin who wears a troubled expression. That troubled expression is aimed directly at Eddie.

“You're both pussies,” Dustin states.

“Excuse me?” Steve scoffs.

“Not you,” Dustin rolls his eyes.

“I’m not a pussy. I tried, alright? Whenever we talk now it’s just a fucking fight,” Eddie says heatedly. 

“You used me as an excuse. That’s why they think you’re full of shit. You flirt and make out then all the sudden you get concerned with what I think? It’s bullshit, Eddie. You just got scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of the possibility you could have feelings!”

Eddie’s jaw sets. His hands tuck back into his armpits, now his arms apply more pressure. Acid rises in his throat. The kid is right. It’s not that he has any crazy feelings right now, but he can feel them coming. Like a sneeze building up, he can sense the oncoming rush. The way you carry yourself, the way you speak to others, the way you speak to him. Eddie knows he could catch feelings fast if given the chance. When an out was presented, he took it. It’s the feelings that make this feel messy, not your relation to Dustin.

“Can we just fucking agree that I’m not Jason?” Eddie sounds more desperate than he’d like. 

“You’re not Jason, but you gotta get them to realize that,” Steve tells him.

Eddie sighs.

“I’m going inside. I’ll see you later,” he mumbles, turning on his heel. 

This conversation has him exhausted. You have him exhausted. He knows he has to find a way to talk to you. Talk, not argue. Not fall down a rabbit hole of aggressive sexual tension. Right now, though, he needs to take a fucking nap.

***

The short rap on the front door startles you. You wait for a beat where you lay on the couch. Another set of three knocks. Curiously, you answer the door. When you see Eddie standing with the screen door open you go to close it again. His hand flies out and stops the door from shutting.

“Will you just let me talk?” He huffs.

“Fine,” you sigh and go back to the couch.

You don't bother checking if he’s following. The screen door creaking shut followed by the front door lets you know. He sits delicately next to you. There's a few inches of space left between your legs. Eddie fiddles with the rings that have become a permanent fixture on his left hand. 

“So, talk,” you order.

“I’m not Jason, alright?”

“Cool, that it? You can see yourself out.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Eddie snaps. 

He tries to believe he made a valiant effort to stay calm. Your attitude irritates him more each time you show it. Eddie is a lot of things, patient in the face of unwarranted malice is not one of them. 

“You, you’re my fucking problem.”

“Me? Henderson, you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” Eddie turns your own words against you.

Your head snaps to look at him. Nostrils flaring, face red, and eyes full of contempt. 

“Please, Munson, you’re beneath me. You’re pathetic,” you sneer.

Jesus Christ, there's no reason your words went straight to Eddie’s dick the way they did. How are you able to play him with more skill than he does his guitar? 

“I wasn't pathetic when you were sucking my face off by the dumpster,” he counters.

“You act like I sucked your dick. It was a stupid kiss.”

“I remember you wanting to jump my bones after that stupid kiss,” Eddie mocks you.

Your fists clench in your lap. You’re about a second away from grabbing Eddie by his hair and showing him just how pathetic he is. 

“Yeah, then unfortunately for you, you kept running your fucking mouth.”

“Unfortunately for me? Trust me, sweetheart, you’re the one missing out. I woulda rocked your world, anyone else woulda been ruined for you,” Eddie’s voice is condescending with a challenging edge. 

You lean in slightly with narrowed eyes.

“I really doubt that.”

Eddie leans in some.

“Do you?”

You lean in even further.

“Yeah, I do.”

Eddie’s eyes flash down to your mouth before quickly moving back to your eyes. 

“Maybe I should prove it to you then.”

“Now who wants to fuck so bad they look stupid?” You smirk. 

“Fuck it, me,” Eddie breathes and closes the space between you.

His hands are on your face. His mouth moves furiously against yours sending shockwaves down your body. One of your hands takes hold of the back of Eddie’s hair. The other runs along his jaw until it’s circled around his neck. You force him away by tugging back on his hair and pushing forward on his throat. He looks so pretty like this with his big eyes wide as can be, all pupils. His face is flushed and his breathing is ragged. Eddie is pliant in your grasp.

“Look at you. Just as pathetic as I thought,” you coo teasingly.

“I’ll show you pathetic,” he grumbles.

In a blink, you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned above your head with one of Eddie’s strong calloused hands. He hovers over you. The heat radiating from his body soaks into your skin. The tip of his nose brushes against yours.

“You’re a real fucking brat, y’know that? Go on, admit it. Tell me you're a brat,” he hisses in your face, warm breath hitting your lips.

Your heart is pounding. Your body is heating up. Every part of you wants this so bad no matter how much you hate it. 

“You’re an asshole,” you hiss back.

Eddie’s rings are cold against your jaw. His grip is punishing as he manhandles your face. He presses his forehead to yours. Those huge brown eyes are commandeering as they lock onto yours.

“Am I gonna have to fuck that attitude out of you?”

You manage to let out a taunting laugh.

“You don’t have what it takes to fuck anything out of me,” you bite.

His grip tightens making talking impossible. Eddie's mouth brushes against your ear and his hair tickles your nose.

“I’m going to fuck you until the only words you know are Eddie, please, and more,” he whispers. 

You hate the shiver that runs down your spine. You hate how much he just turned you on, how much you want what he’s threatening you with. Every nerve ending is on fire. Eddie’s lips begin an assault on the soft bit of skin just below your ear. The sensation makes you squirm in delight. Eddie smiles against your neck.

“There you go, now you’re behaving. Now that you’ve finally shut the fuck up,” he taunts.

You glare at him, still unable to speak with his hand holding your face. That’s it. He’s been on you long enough. You’ve let him have control for long enough. Confusion flashes across his face when you smile. You lock your legs around Eddie’s waist. With a grunt, you launch your hips and legs up and over. 

Eddie lands with an annoyed noise on his back on the carpeted floor. You straddle him, wrists free. Now you grip both his wrists next to his head. You brandish a wicked smile as he looks up at you in surprise. Clearly he wasn't expecting to be bested at that moment. Your knees dig into the carpet uncomfortably around his hips, but you ignore it. Eddie’s slightly nervous expression takes your attention off of it. You lean in to brush the tips of your noses together like he did before. 

“What, big boy? Not feeling very confident anymore? You got no more to say?” you mock him quietly.

“I already said everything I need to say,” he mumbles back.

“What’s that, bitch? I didn't hear you,” your voice drips with venom. 

Something in Eddie completely snaps. He swears he hears the sound of it. A deafening CRACK SNAP POP. Then whatever wild animal that has been scratching at his insides bursts free. 

“Alright, I’m real fuckin’ tired of this attitude, sweetheart. Guess I’m gonna have to do somethin’ about it.”

You open your mouth to challenge him further. To berate him, degrade him. He can feel it. While it would only egg him on, only contribute to the growing erection in his pants, he won't allow it. He won't let you win control over this situation. Not this time. You’re already far too smug.

Eddie manages to rip his hands away from yours. In a blink, he’s sitting up. You place your hands flat on his chest to shove him back down, but he moves too fast. His hands are under your ass, scooping you up as he stands in a second. Instinctively, you wrap yourself around him to avoid falling. He has a firm steady grip on you, though.

“You won't be able to walk right when I’m done with you,” he growls, setting off for your bedroom.

“I just don't believe you’re good enough at sex for that,” you whisper into his ear with a smirk.

“Oh, I’ll make a believer out of you. My dick will have you meeting God and calling him by my name.”

He throws you onto your bed. The rough manhandling is something you never knew you wanted. It’s riling you up even more. 

“You got condoms or are we doing this raw?” Eddie questions.

“I have condoms, but we’re doing this raw anyway,” you answer smugly.

“Is that what you think?” he taunts.

He rummages around your bedside table. There’s a decent sized box of condoms that’s about three quarters of the way empty. Admittedly, you haven't touched the box in a while. It’s from another life that ended months ago. However, when Eddie teases you about them, you find yourself lying.

“Jesus Christ, you’re more of a fucking whore than I took you for,” he holds up the box, shaking it to emphasize how empty it is.

“I like sex, and I like cumming even more. Too bad only one of those things will be happening tonight.”

Eddie takes out a condom and throws the box back in the drawer. He unbuttons his pants and kicks them off unceremoniously. You can see the imprint of his dick hardening in his tight boxers. He looks down at you with hooded lustful eyes. Soon you’re staring at his bare dick, his underwear abandoned on the floor. It bobs throbbing and red, glistening with precum. 

“Get on your hands and knees. M’gonna use that big mouth of yours since you like havin’ it open so fuckin’ much,” he snaps.

You don’t know why, but you listen. Now that you’re on your bed with Eddie’s dick right there, all fight is gone. Eddie's hand grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes into your mouth. 

“Shit,” he moans as you welcome him in with a twirl of your tongue. 

He starts fucking your face slowly. You look up at him through your lashes. Eddie is watching you take him into your mouth like it's nothing. The eye contact makes you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he brushes the back of your throat. 

“Never thought I’d get you to shut the fuck up,” Eddie grunts as he picks up his pace. 

You try to remove your mouth. A scalding remark on the tip of your tongue. His grip on your hair tightens until it burns. His thrusts don't break.

“Not so fast, sweetheart. I plan on cumming down your throat before that loud mouth of yours starts up again.”

And fuck if that doesn't send you on a mission. Eddie doesn't even need to guide you after that, but it doesn't stop him. He refuses to relinquish control. He refuses to give you an opportunity to flip this on him. Finally, his hips stutter. Then he’s holding your head, calling out a resounding FUCK, and buries your nose in the dark hair at the base of his dick. You moan as Eddie shoots hot streams of cum down your throat. You take every last drop.

Once he’s finished, his grip on your hair loosens. You sit back on your heels. While making eye contact, you use the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. It’s a move that makes Eddie’s softening dick twitch.

“You had something to say?” Eddie's voice is raspy, but still condescending.

You narrow your eyes at him. As if he wasn't just using your mouth to get off, you cross your arms petulantly. 

“No, it’s okay. I don't think your fragile ego can handle it,” you shrug.

Eddie huff in disbelief.

“I just fucked my cum down your throat and your gonna call my ego fragile?”

“Seems so.”

“Just tell me what you were gonna fuckin’ say,” he orders, climbing into the bed over you.

Eddie crowding you causes you to lay back. Even in the compromising position, you smirk smugly. Eddie’s hair tickles your cheeks as he hovers over you. He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“It was nothing really… Just that Jason’s dick always managed to shut me up way faster than yours did,” you say casually, almost bored. 

“Jason’s di- are you seriously bringing him up right now?”

“Why, that bother you?”

“Considering I’m about to make you meet God like we talked about, yeah a little,” Eddie’s voice is breathy. 

He actually sounds a bit irritated.

“Never took you for the religious type.”

Eddie gets a wicked smile.

“‘M not, but you’re already in bed with the Devil, baby. Only one other Big Man to meet.”

“Big? Is that what you think of yourself?”

“Do you need a reminder? I’ll be happy to fuck that pretty mouth of yours again.”

Eddie leans down closer. Fuck, you want to kiss him. You don't. You won't let him know just how much you’re enjoying this. Instead you smile teasingly.

“You think my mouth is pretty?” You bat your eyelashes at him.

“Fuck, I hate to admit it, but… Not gonna lie, I think every part of you is unreal. Y’know, until you start talking.” 

You snake your hands up Eddie’s chest. Slowly and sensually, you make your way up his shoulders. Then you skirt up and around to the back of his neck until your fingers tangle in his hair. Eddie really likes when you play with his hair. You can tell by the way his eyelids droop a little more at the contact. He almost looks like he’s about to lean down and kiss you. So, you take your chance.

Your grip tightens tenfold. Eddie’s eyes widen as you pull him back, sitting up in the process. He hisses, but doesn't complain otherwise. You glide the tip of your nose up the side of his neck until you reach his earlobe. With a smirk, you angle your head up so you can speak into his ear. 

“I’m gonna use that big mouth of yours since you like having it open so fucking much,” you whisper, using his own words against him.

You swear you hear him breathe a curse. You let go of his hair, knowing he’ll follow you wherever you lead. Eddie is sure you could lead him into Mordor, up Mount Doom, and down into the lava like Sméagol. He’s sure that whatever painful obsession the ring of power imposed on Frodo, you just imposed on him. For better or worse. Eddie Munson is officially and completely captivated by you. You’re his precious.

That’s why he doesn't hesitate. He doesn't argue. He doesn't talk back. Instead he watches, waits patiently for you to settle into your pillows and peel off your shorts and underwear. Eddie happily, even eagerly, let’s you fuck his face like he did yours. You swear his tongue is magic. It’s hitting all the right spots, deft movements eliciting loud moans from you. 

“Look at you. Just as pathetic as I thought,” you say as your thighs clench around Eddie’s head, your fingers digging into his scalp.

All Eddie can manage is a moan as you fill his mouth. You don't take as long as Eddie did to finish. Him using you and cumming down your throat had gotten you close enough, closer than you care to admit. You cum with a loud moan, no actual words coming out. With your fingers tangled in his hair, you pull him up. He looks dazed, drunk on your taste. 

“At least your mouth is good for something,” you tell him with a slick grin. 

Christ, Eddie is a goner. He’s an absolute goner. This is so so bad.

“Look at you, you’re already all fucked out and we haven't even gotten to actually fucking yet. You’re really making me miss Jason…” you sigh dramatically. 

The mention of Jason again wakes Eddie up. A growl rumbles through his chest. His hand finds your wrist, applying enough pressure to get you to let go of his hair. He clambers over you, face real close to yours. There’s something hungry in his dark eyes. Something carnivorous.

“I’m gonna make sure you forget about fucking Jason,” he hisses.

“Fucking Jason is the one thing I like to remember,” you tease.

Eddie silently curses his own poorly placed fuck that gave you that opening. Hearing Jason’s name in the middle of this is seriously starting to grate his nerves.

“That’s it,” Eddie grumbles.

Before you can question him, he grabs onto your waist. With little effort he flips you onto your stomach. Your face is held sideways against your pillows. Eddie forces your hips in the air. You can feel the tip of his dick tease your entrance, causing you to twitch. 

“What happened to the condom, prude?” you spit at him from your compromised position.

“The whore wanted it raw, the whore will get it raw,” he growls back. 

It’s in that submissive state, Eddie’s rings digging into your scalp as he holds you down, him degrading you that you realize you’re a goner. You’re an absolute goner. This is so, so bad.

“What’re you waitin’ for then?” you question.

A loud SLAP rings out and a burning sensation spreads across your ass cheek. You gasp at the feeling. 

“This is for my pleasure, whore. This isn't about you. I’ll go as fast or slow as I like.”

On the last word Eddie pushes into you. He doesn't go too fast at first. Sure, he wants to fuck you until you can't walk, but he doesn't want to hurt you. The foreplay was minimal, slow is better for now. You whine as he bottoms out. Completely stretched out and full you can do nothing but grip the sheets on either side of your head. 

Slowly, Eddie begins to move. He’s so lost in the feel of you around him and his own mutterings of Jesus Christ that he doesn't register you speaking at first.

“What?” He breathes.

You cackle.

“Christ, Munson, you’re pathetic.”

There’s that word again. That fucking word. Eddie leans down, both of your damp shirts still on and sticking to each other. 

“Remember what I said earlier?” he whispers into your ear.

“I remember you saying you think I’m unreal,” you mock him.

He straightens back up.

“Yeah, yeah, keep talkin’ while you still can. Soon you’ll only be able to say Eddie,” he gives a single powerful thrust earning a moan from you, “please,” another powerful thrust, “more.”

Eddie sets off on a wild chase of his second orgasm and your delirium. Admittedly, that delirium was setting in very fast. His movements are quick, strong, and fluid. You can't think of anyone else who has fucked you like this. In a way you didn't realize you’ve been craving. In a way that doesn't make you feel like an object, a subject to be studied, or a novelty. Eddie makes you feel a person who is desired, even in spite of the animosity ripe between you. He makes you feel like a whore in the best way possible.

“Shit, you feel so fucking good,” Eddie groans as you tighten around him. 

He’s giving you so much already, but he was right. There are only three words you can think of right now. Only three words you think you’re capable of uttering.

“Eddie,” you moan.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Please.”

“Come again?”

“More.”

“Not sure I heard you right,” he says smugly, never breaking pace.

“Eddie, please, more,” you moan.

“Thought so.”

Eddie’s thrusts become animalistic. All the anger, frustration, name calling, and overall emotion from the rollercoaster that your relationship has been are being taken out on you. You start saying it like a mantra. Eddie, please, more. It’s a white flag, a surrender. It’s you telling him he’s won. Boy, oh, boy is it a sweet fucking sound. A sound that turns into a scream of a moan with your body tensing around him. He spills into you, hips flush against your ass. His own moans mingle with yours in the air. 

You collapse onto your stomach, Eddie close behind. He stays on top of you. After a minute of catching his breath he rolls off of you. You stay on your stomach as you come back to your senses. 

“You alright, Henderson?” Eddie’s voice is much softer than you’re expecting. 

You turn your head to face him. He’s watching you with wide eyes. How does he manage to look so innocent after everything he just did to you?

“Yeah, Munson, I’m peachy. You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He nods, eyes never leaving you. Your eyes don't leave him. What’s the point in trying to hide staring after all that? You don't care that he is and he doesn't care that you are. 

“So, you still miss fucking Jason?” Eddie asks playfully.

“Who?” 

“Good,” he smiles, looking awfully pleased with himself. 

“Do we still hate each other? I can't remember anymore,” you knit your eyebrows to feign confusion. 

Eddie laughs. It’s a low sound that rumbled through his chest. His eyes take on a gooey quality that you fear you may get stuck in.

“I think we might like each other now. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Sounds good to me.”

***

The scent of sex is thick and heavy in the air when you wake up. Golden light streaks across your face as the sun lowers beneath the horizon. When you shift to turn over and check the time on your alarm clock, a warm weight stops you. Eddie’s arms are around you loosely, holding you against his chest. Both of you are still in only your shirts. 

Carefully, you extract yourself. Eddie groans, but doesn't wake. You only bother with a new pair of underwear. Your stomach lets out a loud grumble and the hunger hits you. You take another look at Eddie’s sleeping form. The annoyance doesn't creep up at the sight of him anymore. Something else does in its place. Something you decide not to dwell on. All you know is if you’re this hungry, he’ll wake up hungry too.

Eddie wakes up to the smell of sex, bacon, eggs, and melted butter. It takes a second to get his bearings. The smell makes him think morning, but the position of the sun tells him it's evening. He crawls out of your bed and pulls his bottom layers back on. When he makes his way out to the main living area he finds you in the kitchen. You’re humming God Only Knows and pushing eggs around in a sizzling pan. Beside you is a plate of bacon and a plate of pancakes. 

There’s a moment where the only thing Eddie can do is watch you. You’re bathed in the last golden rays of the evening, nothing but that baggy white muscle tank and a fresh pair of black underwear. The song isn't one he goes out of his way to listen to, but Wayne has thrown it on a few times. Enough for Eddie to recognize the Beach Boys’ tune. 

“All that for you?” Eddie finally alerts you to his presence. 

You jolt a little in surprise and whip around to look at Eddie. A coy smile crawls upon your face.

“Uh- no. I woke up starving and figured you would too,” you shrug.

As if on cue, Eddie’s stomach lets out a loud growl. You laugh and gesture for him to sit at the table. The whole scene feels so… domestic. If something in Eddie snapped earlier, something else is connecting now. There’s a satisfying click in his head as the sensation of things finally being on the right track sets in. 

“Y’know, I didn’t peg you for a Beach Boys fan,” Eddie comments after a moment of only the sound of you scraping eggs around the pan.

You don't look at him, but Eddie swears he sees color rise to your cheeks.

“I’m not really. It… my dad used to sing that song all the time,” you explain, something close to troubled taking over your voice.

Eddie’s eyebrows raise. He’s never heard mention of Father Henderson before. Dustin only ever has complaints about your mom. Neither of you have mentioned a father until now.

“Dustin’s never mentioned-”

“He wasn't Dustin’s dad.”

You slide the scrambled eggs onto the last empty plate. Eddie watches you bring them over before grabbing a couple more plates for the two of you to eat from. Then some cutlery.

“I’m sorry if I brought up a sore subject,” he apologizes with big eyes as you sit across from him.

You begin shoveling food onto your plate.

“You didn't. I actually love talking about him, but my mom and Dustin have never really felt the same. So, I just don’t.”

“Do you want to talk about him now?” 

You finally look at Eddie. Eyebrows slightly raised, eyes a tad wider than normal, and a soft smile on your lips. He wonders if it's okay to reach over and kiss you. 

“His favorite song was God Only Knows by the Beach Boys, but I guess you probably figured that out.”

“Not a bad choice.”

You chuckle.

“I can't imagine you listening to the Beach Boys.”

“I don't, but Wayne does sometimes. God Only Knows is one of the only ones that doesn't make me want to rip my hair out,” he flashes you a playful smile.

“My dad would sing it whenever he was doing something boring. Laundry, dishes, but especially cooking.”

Eddie nods as he fills his own plate. There’s a couple minutes where the two of you eat in silence. Occasional voices could be heard outside, some cats, and the clinking of bottles as recycling goes out. The average soundtrack of Forest Hills.

“Can I ask what happened or is that not cool?” Eddie asks genuinely. 

He really doesn't know how to navigate this conversation. He doesn't want to piss you off or upset you in general. All he knows is how he would want to be asked and, honestly, he simply wouldn't. You don’t seem as closed off on that front as he is, though.

“Pancreatic cancer. My mom ended the marriage before the cancer did, though. Said it was too much for her to handle.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Eddie suddenly felt very guilty for asking.

You just shrug. 

“Where’s Dustin’s dad?”

“Who knows,” you snort, “he ran off with some woman from his job.”

“Jeez, your mom really has-”

“Poor choice in men? Yeah.”

“I was gonna say piss poor luck.”

You laugh, which loosens some of the tension that's built around the conversation. Eddie chuckles along, scarfing some food down in the process. 

“We would fly kites when it was nice out. Sometimes he’d bring me to the lake where we’d fish and swim. He liked going to the library a lot, too. I basically grew up in the mystery section. A lot of that was lost when the cancer got bad, though. All of it, really. All of it except that song. No matter how bad it got, he always sang that song,” you rattle on sadly, but with a smile.

It’s been so long since you've talked about him. It feels good. Like visiting him after a long time away. Memories are nice, but there’s something special about sharing them. It’s easier to relive them. Easier to enjoy them when you get to do it with someone else. Maybe it’s just because that someone else is Eddie. You think if anyone will understand, or at the very least respect, how it feels it'd be him. 

“What was his name?”

“Jack. Jack Coleman.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow. He narrows his eyes and leans in, pointing his fork in an accusatory fashion. 

“Wait, so, you’re not a Henderson? You’re a Coleman?” He questions.

You break out in a smile. 

“Guilty.”

Eddie looks like he was struck by lightning. Like the heavens just opened up and revealed the meaning of life to him. 

“Shit, wait… I do remember you!”

“No, you don't,” you shake your head, attempting to hide how mortified that sentence makes you.

“Yes, I totally do! All your friends called you Cole. You had those sick green vans,” he wears a goofy smile.

You feel heat crawl up your neck.

“You remember my vans?”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to flush bright red.

“Yeah, like I said, they were sick.”

“I still have’em somewhere. Maybe I’ll break’em out one day,” you smile.

Both of you clear your plates after that. You really were hungry. It’s an amicable silence. One that grows more uncomfortable in your chest because you know another hard conversation has to be had.

“I know you’re not Jason, by the way. I mean, I know now. Sorry I jumped to conclusions. I've been through a lot of Jasons,” you tell him softly.

Eddie offers a soft smile.

“S’alright. Would you tell me what happened there? I can't imagine you with fuckin’ Jason.”

You chuckle.

“Yeah, he asked me for help at work and then started saying all the right things. The dating pool for me in Hawkins is small. So, when he said he didn't want anyone to know I said okay. When he pretended not to know me in public I said okay. Then, one day, he was just…,” you frown at the memory of them walking down the street holding hands, “with Chrissy Cunningham. I asked him about it, but he was pissed I called his house. Called me about every derogatory name you can think of.”

Eddie could actually kill Jason. He already hated him, but now he’s actively cursing the ground the asshole walks on. How could he treat you so shitty? How could he not feel grateful he gets to be in your presence in this capacity? 

“Well, I’d like to keep doing this. As public as possible. I want everyone to know I’m with someone this unreal,” he keeps his tone playful, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes. 

Your heart starts pounding against your chest. Eddie is sitting across from you offering you everything you’ve ever wanted in a relationship. Someone who not only wants to be with you, but is proud to be with you. It’s almost too much. 

“So, you're with me now, huh?” you tease.

“I sure am,” Eddie teases back with a wolfish grin.

“Maybe let's start with an actual date.”

“You asking me out, Hen-Coleman,” he places emphasis on getting the last name right. 

A smile forms on your lips. You don't have an issue with being called a Henderson. The different last name is why so many people don't know you and Dustin are related. So, you don't correct people anymore when they call you Henderson. The reminder that you're technically only half siblings has always upset Dustin.

“Yeah, I think I am, Munson.”

“Then I expect to be picked up at seven sharp. You better have flowers and chocolates. I’m expensive to date.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Eddie helps you clean without you asking. He takes over the dishes, scooting you out of the way and instructing you to dry and put them away. 

“I dunno where anything goes,” is his excuse.

Really, he just wanted to take on the more arduous task for you. A sort of repayment for making him food. The effortless kindness you've met him with after the sex you had. The angry, heated sex. Eddie finds it kinda funny how the two of you have fallen into this little exchange of kindness and good will considering how the day began. 

When the dishes are all done and put away, Eddie begins awkwardly fiddling with his rings. It feels like his time with you is coming to an end. He doesn't want to overstay his welcome, but fuck does he want to stay. Just hanging out with you like this makes him feel… normal. He doesn't feel like the Freak, the drug dealer, or the fuck up. He just feels like Eddie and, for the first time, he feels like maybe that's enough. 

“Is it really dumb to ask you to stay?” you ask him suddenly.

You’re standing across the small kitchen, having just put the last of the plates away. Eddie looks at you with wide, excited eyes.

“Awe, you wanna spend more time with me, Coleman?” Eddie coos teasingly. 

“Alright, forget I said anything,” you roll your eyes with a smile.

Eddie lets out a laugh.

“I’ll stay until you kick me out,” he smiles back. 

You don't kick him out until you have to go to work the next afternoon.

***

The next time Dustin calls to beg for permission for Hellfire to meet at your place, you agree without hesitation. The day before you work, but only until five. Eddie is waiting in his van in front of the store when you exit, a lit cigarette between his lips. You smile and hop in. 

“I wasn't expecting you to pick me up,” you say as you buckle your seatbelt.

You know he had work at the record store today. Eddie takes one last drag of his cigarette and puts it out in the cup holder on his side. He’s been doing that ever since you yelled at him for flicking his butts out the window. 

“Got out at four. I’m not gonna let my precious Coleman walk home if I can help it,” he shows off a goofy smile and starts to drive. 

“You think I’m precious,” you coo.

“More precious than the One Ring,” he coos back.

“Okay, you've lost me.”

Eddie glances at you in disbelief.

“You have Henderson as a brother and you don't know Lord of the Rings?” 

“Oh, that’s those books that read like textbooks, right?”

“Read like- Jesus Christ, I might have to rethink this whole situation,” he says to himself.

“Sorry,” you laugh, “I don’t have much time for reading. So, when I do, if it's not simple and to the point, I can't get into it.”

“Lord of the Rings is art. It’s a painting on paper.”

“Aren’t all paintings on paper?”

“Canvas,” he corrects, “you’re makin’ me feel real smart today.”

“Glad I can be of service,” you say sarcastically. 

“Seriously, though. That’s like… my favorite thing other than D&D and music,” his voice is more tender, more serious.

And you, he thinks. It’s far too early to admit that. Doesn't mean he doesn't feel that way, though.

“Maybe I can give it another go,” you shrug.

Eddie throws a soft smile your way. You hold onto the warmth it fills you with for as long as you can. Eddie ends up staying the night, which isn't much of a surprise. It was clear he was expecting it because he brought his D&D bag with him. It did make setting up the next day easier since he was already there. 

By the time Dustin shows up Eddie is all set up. You’re laying on the couch, Eddie is crouched beside you. His face is close to yours, a sly smile present. You’re busy giggling like a maniac at whatever he must have said. Dustin lets the screen door fall shut behind him. The sound of it slamming startles you and Eddie. 

“What’s going on?” Dustin asks suspiciously. 

Eddie smiles widely.

“Just telling Coleman here what’s in store for you guys today,” he says easily. 

Dustin visibly stiffens. He doesn't find this situation as amusing as the two of you seem to.

“Coleman,” Dustin states, eyes set on you.

You can see the hurt. It’s been so long since you've corrected someone on your last name. You didn't think about how the sudden change might make Dustin feel rejected.

“Yeah, y’know, their last name,” Eddie eggs the conversation on, unaware of the ugly feelings bubbling up.

“I know their last name, Eddie,” Dustin snaps. 

That clues Eddie into the sore nature of the subject. He glances apologetically between you and Dustin. 

“Dustin, don’t be rude,” you chide.

“You two were at each other’s throats the last time I saw you together and you’re telling me not to be rude?” 

“Well, we’re not at each other’s throats now. So, yeah, I am,” you begin catching Dustin’s own attitude. 

You sit up, causing Eddie to stand. 

“Whatever, it’s bullshit and you know it,” he rolls his eyes and throws his bag down next to the chair he usually occupies. 

“Excuse me, what’s bullshit?” You question and stand up.

Eddie is watching helplessly. He can't help but feel like he incited this situation. Dustin gestures widely at the air around you and Eddie.

“You telling me what to do. You guys are friends today, but tomorrow you’ll probably be fighting again. Isn't that how it goes with you?”

Any emotion falls from your face. Your hands shake a bit. You won't let them see you break. You won't derail their night. Besides, Dustin is right. You and Eddie are good now, but you like to blow up all the good things in your life. Ever since your father died, the idea that anything good may be permanent feels more like a pipe dream. It’s easier to discard good things before good things discard you.

“Yeah, it is. I’m going to be in my room. Have fun with your campaign,” you mumble and storm past him to your room.

The door doesn't slam. It clicks shut calmly, which is scarier. Eddie rounds on Dustin. 

“What the fuck is your problem, Henderson?” he demands.

“I don't have a problem.”

“You wanna talk about bullshit? What is it? Am I not good enough-”

“Eddie, you know that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

Dustin takes a second. He sighs, closing his eyes, and then opening them once more.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

The waver in Dustin’s voice throws Eddie off. His features soften as he looks at Dustin. Guilt washes over him. Sure, Dustin might be younger and Eddie might see him as a protege, or a younger brother, but he’s still one of Eddie’s best friends. Fuck, this was really shitty of him. He should have told Dustin he’s into you, regardless of how obvious it was. He should have told him you two have hooked up and are seeing where things go. Maybe not official, but exclusive. Instead, he acted like it didn't matter. Like it didn't matter that he’s seeing his best friend’s older sibling. Eddie runs an anxious hand over his face, stopping at his chin to hold it in thought.

“I’m really sorry, Dustin,” is all he can say in the end.

“I don't want an apology. I want an answer. I asked you so many times, Eddie. Every time you just dismissed me. I’m not stupid! And I don’t care! I’m happy for you, for both of you. I just… I just really wish you told me.”

Eddie takes a shaky breath. Dustin's words fall heavy on his shoulders. They're a weight he can tell he’ll be carrying for a while. 

“I should’ve. I was afraid of what you'd think. What you’d say. It’s not an excuse, I know, but… I dunno I think this is real, man. It feels real.”

Dustin does what Eddie thought he may never do again. He hugs him. It takes Eddie a second to register, but once he does he hugs back tight. He’s hopeful when they separate. 

“I think it’s great. Seriously, you both look really happy. But if you hurt them, Eddie, I’ll get Steve to beat you up.”

Eddie nods with wide eyes.

“Understood.”

“Okay, I have to go apologize,” Dustin sighs. 

Eddie watches him disappear to your room. Mike and Will come strolling in. Eddie thanks whatever is out there that they showed after all that. 

***

“So, we’ve been doin’ this a while now,” Eddie says, head lolling over to look at you.

You’re in your bed, fully clothed. These nights are Eddie’s favorite. Together in bed for the sake of being together in bed and nothing else. Eddie’s hair is splayed out behind him. The singular telephone pole light outside exposes the blush on his cheeks. It makes you smile. You like that you do that to him. 

“I s’pose we have,” your voice is soft and quiet.

“D’you maybe wanna make this an official thing?” 

He looks shy, nervous. It’s adorable. 

“I’d love to be an official thing with you.”

“Metal,” he breathes with a smile.

You chuckle and press a joyful kiss on his lips. When you pull away Eddie can tell you have an idea. Your smile gets this funny little quirk when you get an idea.

“Since we’re an official thing, I guess you should formally meet my father,” you try to sound serious.

Pure confusion crosses Eddie’s face. You gesture to the set up on your dresser. A small urn and some photos. Understanding and then mischief lights up his face. He hops out of bed and stands before the dresser. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Eddie says and bows as if addressing a king. 

You let out a little laugh. Then he’s staring tenderly at the photos. One from your third birthday. You're on your father’s lap covered in cake. Another is from one of the times he took you fishing. You’re around six in that particular photo. The final photo shows you at eight. Your father looks so much older despite it only being a few years. He’s paler, thinner, and more tired looking. You’re tucked into bed with him, asleep. Eddie can only assume it's the last photo you took with him. 

“You were a cute kid,” he comments adoringly and jumps back into bed.

“What, I’m not cute now?” you tease.

“No, you're unreal now, remember,” he smiles.

You chuckle.

“You’re unreal too, Munson.”

One thing’s for sure, Eddie was right. This official thing is definitely real and it’s definitely it for both of you. 

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

I feel like if Steve had performed CPR on Eddie while Nancy drove the RV back to the hospital and brought Eddie back, Eddie would be bragging about Steve kissing him and Steve having a crush on him. He'd be an absolute menace about it.

"It wasn't a kiss. It was CPR!" Steve would yell.

"Sure, Stevie, and I'm sure everyone in here believes that," Eddie would wink at him from his hospital bed. "I've seen Nancy, I'm definitely your type."

Robin's laughing about it along with everyone else, thinking it was just a joke for Eddie, and she could tell that Steve wasn't actually hurt by it because if he was, Robin would kick Eddie's ass.

"This is a kiss!" Steve exclaimed and slammed his lips to Eddie's before quickly pulling back. "What I did was breathe air into your lungs. . . What?"

"Oh," Eddie breathed softly as he touched his lips.

Robin's eyes were wide as she looked at Steve like everyone else did. Okay, she knew about her best friend, but she did not think he would do that.

"Steve, you just kissed Eddie," Dustin said.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I didn't really think about it because everyone pretty much knows about me. . . ," Steve said. "And they're cool with it."

"No, harm, Steve. It's just a kiss between friends. I kiss Jeff all the time. He thinks it's funny," Eddie said, laughing. "I don't actually think you're gay for me, Steve."

"Well, no, I'm not gay for you," Steve said.

"Yeah, I know, I just said that," Eddie scoffed. "You need to get your hearing checked, man."

"I'm actually partially deaf in one ear," Steve replied and Eddie sighed, looking guilty.

"HI, I'm Eddie Munson. Sometimes I put my giant ass foot in my mouth," he said, holding out his hand, and Steve took it, smiling in amusement. "Sorry, man."

"It's alright. No harm," Steve said, grinning. "While, I'm not gay for you. I am completely bisexual for you."

"You're what?"

"Bisexual."

"What?"

"BI - SEX - UAL," Steve sounded out. "Jesus, now who's the deaf one?"

"Okay. I don't know what that means. Wait! Hold on! I think I can figure this one out," Eddie said. "Okay, so if bilingual means that you speak more than one language, then bisexual must mean. . .Do you like more than one sex?"

Steve grinned, tapped his nose and pointed at him.

"Wow," Robin said with wide eyes.

"Give him a break, Robin. He's on a lot of pain medication," Dustin said. "He got there, didn't he?"

"So, if bisexual is a thing that means that me checking out Jeff's ass wasn't because I liked his jeans!" Eddie exclaimed.

Steve scowled and crossed his arms, scoffing as he turned away from Eddie.

"Jeff," Steve said angrily. "He didn't kiss you back to life."

"I thought you said it was CPR," Max said.

"Eddie, man, I think you're making Steve jealous," Lucas said.

Eddie grinned at Steve's back, and his eyes landed on his ass.

"You know, whenever Jeff and I used to get high in the back of my van, we'd get really handsy with each other. Now that I think about it, that wasn't very straight of me," Eddie giggled. "Maybe when I get out of here, I should ask him out."

Steve whirled around with his hands on his hips.

"Are you fucking kidding me, right now, Munson?" Steve asked and Eddie laughed.

"Lucas is right. You are jealous," Eddie said. "Me and Jeff never did any of that. Baby, the only man I want to get handsy with in the back of my van is you."

"Really?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Eddie said.

Steve leaned down to kiss him, Eddie welcoming it gladly.

"I'm not sure if I say 'aww' or try to burn the image of our babysitter getting felt up by our dungeon master in the back of his van," Mike scowled.

Robin rolled her eyes as she started to push everyone out of the room. It was just in time too because she's pretty sure her best friend just got goosed.

"Eddie!"

[afictionaladventure16]

You're too Sweet for Me (Grumpy!Sebastian Stan x Sunshine!Assistant!Reader)

Sebastian Stan Masterlist

Chapter 1

Word Count: 2,099

Warnings: None.

A/N: Alrighty! I have fixed it, it is now a x reader fic!

They say never meet your heroes, yet here you were, working for him. At only 25 years old, Y/N decided to make the move to New York City, it was a bold move. she had known California to be her home since birth, but with her recent breakup, Y/N felt like it was suffocating her. She needed a change a big one, so she grabbed all her shit and her dog and moved to NYC. 

Getting the job as Sebastian Stan’s assistant was just the cherry on the top, she never imagined working for the actor she had a major crush on, but he wasn’t everything she saw in interviews. He spent most of his time angry or silent. Y/N decided not to let his moodiness ruin her mood because she was living the dream. 

“You’re late,” Emily, Sebastian’s manager, says as Y/N walks into Sebastian’s apartment. 

“I know, I know,” Y/N sighed setting down her bag on the counter. “What am I dealing with today? Two cups of coffee or do you think one will do?” 

She glanced towards the office where Sebastian spent most of his time, “Make it two.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Jesus.” Making her way into the kitchen and began making some coffee. 

“Did you go check out that restaurant I told you about?” Emily asks, leaning against the counter. 

“Yes, I did. It still doesn’t beat the tacos back home.” 

Emily smiled. “You miss California?” 

“Yes and no.” 

A frustrated yell echoed through the apartment, Emily and Y/N looked at each other. “If only the coffee machine could go any faster,” she said, grabbing Sebastian’s favorite mug from the cupboard. 

“I should head out, but I’ll send you more recommendations. There’s this Thai place you should try out, it’s near your apartment,” Emily said as she made her way to the door. 

“Wish me luck,” Y/N sighed. 

“Good luck,” she smirked before leaving the apartment. 

Y/N poured Sebastian his coffee before rushing over to his office. 

“A coffee a day keeps the grumpiness at bay,” Y/N said, placing Sebastian’s mug on his desk. It was just the way he liked it, with a dash of oat milk. Y/N wondered if maybe that’s why he was always such a big grump. 

“I am not grumpy.” Sebastian rolled his eyes before turning around, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Sure, and I’m not bisexual. Oh, wait, Yes I am.” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Remind me why I hired you again?” 

“Because I needed a job and I saw a posting about ‘Assistant needed’ and I thought, hey! I can-” 

“Alright, alright,” Sebastian sighs. “Can you just hand me that script I was talking about yesterday?” 

Y/N sighed, “Can you just hand me that script I was talking about yesterday, Please?” She says with an emphasis on the ‘please’, handing him the script that was in his file cabinet. 

Sebastian takes in a deep breath, “please,” he mumbled. 

“Now was that so hard?” She asked as she began to walk out of the office. 

“A bit,” he muttered. 

“I heard that!” 

“Wait! Before you go.” Sebastian took a sip of his coffee as Y/N quickly turned around, “You do know you were about thirty minutes late today, right?” 

“I really thought I was gonna get away with that,” she smiled. “It won’t happen again, I promise! My alarm never went off this morning.” 

Sebastian stared at Y/N as she rambled on, something was different about her. There was something missing, something that pulled her together. Her glasses. Sebastian shook his head with the realization. “You wearing contacts today?” He asked. 

“Oh,” she let out a nervous laugh, “I uh- managed to forget my glasses at home along with my contacts, all while I was trying to rush to get here.” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “dear lord, help me with this one.” 

“But I swear, I’ll be fine!” She turned around to walk out of the office but bumped into the wall, she let out a small groan. “I swear that wall wasn’t there a second ago.” 

Sebastian sighed, getting up from his chair. “Come on,” He said, grabbing his keys. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, rubbing her nose from the impact. 

“We’re going to your apartment,” He said walking past Y/N. 

She quickly followed him out of the office, “What? Why?” 

“Because, Y/N, unfortunately, you are no use to me when you’re blind as a bat,” he commented, grabbing her bag from the counter and handing it to her. 

“A-Are you sure? Because it’s like a twenty-minute walk, that’s not including having to use the L line to get to my street,” Y/N began to say as she took her purse from Sebastian. 

“I would much rather have my assistant able to do her job without making any mistakes, especially today.” 

“What’s so special about today?” 

“We have that deadline remember?” 

Y/N did not remember, she took out her phone, holding the screen close to her face as she looked through her calendar. “Ah, yes, I remember now.” 

Sebastian gestured for Y/N to lead the way once they exited his apartment building. 

It took about thirty minutes for them to arrive at Y/N’s apartment, Sebastian took in the old building in front of him. This was the first time he had been to her place and he’d be lying if he was never curious as to how she lived. He expected her to have bookshelves and maybe some plants, a cozy environment for an introverted bookworm like herself. When they got to her hallway, Y/N led him to the farthest door. 

Yelling could be heard as they passed by one of the doors, “That’s Janice,” Y/N commented. “She’s a bit of a yeller.” 

Once they got to Y/N’s door, she rummaged through her purse. Sebastian watched as she squinted her eyes while rummaging through her purse. Her petite frame barely made a dent in the small space they occupied, he felt like a giant next to her. Her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, evidence that she was indeed in a hurry that morning. Sebastian knew her signature bun that was always perfectly pulled up with a few loose strands of hair in the front. 

Her skin had a warm, caramel hue, a testament to her latina heritage. To most girls, Y/N would be envied for having the perfect tan skin. 

Y/N cleared her throat, feeling Sebastian’s eyes on her. She pulled out a book and handed it to Sebastian, “Hold that, please.” 

Sebastian sighs, taking the book. “So you forget your glasses,  but you don’t forget your book.” 

“Oh, that’s my purse book,” Y/N says, rummaging through her purse again. 

“Your purse book?” Sebastian raised his eyebrows.

She nodded, “It stays in my purse, in case of emergencies.” 

“What kind of emergency would there be in which you need– what book is this,” He looked at the title, “Tuesdays with Morrie? What kind of emergency would require you to read Tuesdays with Morrie?” 

“The kind in which I am trapped somewhere and in dire need to read,” She smiled, pulling out her keys from her purse. 

“Sometimes, I wonder what goes through that little head of yours.” 

“My mom always said that to me when I was younger,” Y/N commented, opening the door to her apartment, “maybe that’s why I had to take all those tests when I was a kid.” 

Sebastian stifled a laugh, “You know what, I’m not gonna even ask.” 

As they walked into the apartment, the sound of nails clicking against the hardwood floor echoed through the apartment hallway, it was followed by the jingle of small pieces of metal clashing together. A German shepherd came into view, wagging its tail as it went straight to Y/N. 

Y/N bent down and began scratching behind the dog's ear, “I know, I know, I didn’t say good morning to you this morning.” She kissed him on the head as the dog whined, “I am so sorry, Shadow.” 

“You didn’t tell me you had a dog,” Sebastian commented. 

At the sound of Sebastian’s voice, Shadow quickly reacted and began barking at him. Sebastian took a step back, “Heel, Shadow.” Shadow obeyed instantly, sitting beside her. 

“And he’s trained,” Sebastian said with an impressed look. 

“This is my baby,” she walked over to the kitchen counter, grabbing a treat from a jar. She handed it to Sebastian, “Trust me, he’s just like you. A big softie on the inside,” she said with a wink. 

Sebastian gave Y/N a small glare as he took the treat from her, “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

She just smiles at him, “I’ll be right back, um, you can make yourself at home.” Y/N gestured towards the living room. 

 Sebastian quickly gave the treat to Shadow, “hey, Shadow.” The dog was quick to smell Sebastian and then eat the treat. Sebastian had gained his trust, for now. 

Sebastian stepped into the living room, taking in the bookshelves that lined one of the walls, the plants that hung on the ceiling, and the ones that were left out on the patio. Some plants had long lines that draped over some of the bookshelves. It was exactly how he imagined it. A smile tugged on his lips as he scanned the books on her shelves. 

“Is most of this yours?” Sebastian scanned the coffee table, which was littered with magazines and books. He was surprised to see an ashtray. 

“The books and the plants, yes!” Y/N yelled out. 

“I’m assuming the ashtray isn’t yours?” 

“Roommate,” Y/N said as she walked into the living room with her glasses on. 

“There she is! Now that’s the assistant I know.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Let’s just go before we’re late for that deadline.” 

The way back through the L line took an unexpected turn, the line had stopped suddenly. Everyone seemed to not panic as a voice came on the speakers informing everyone they should be back on route shortly. 

Y/N smiled widely as she pulled her book from her purse. “Emergencies,” she said in a sing-song voice as she waved the book at Sebastian. 

Sebastian couldn’t hold in his laughter as he shook his head, “You are unbelievable.” 

“You think it’s stupid, but look what just happened. Now I can entertain myself while we wait.” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “Whatever.” 

After a few minutes passed, Sebastian began to feel anxious waiting, his leg began bouncing as he peered over Y/N’s shoulder. 

“I see you,” She whispered, a smirk playing on her face as she turned the page. 

“Wait, I wasn’t done with that page.” 

Y/N glared at Sebastian, “Then maybe you should have a purse book.” 

“But I don’t carry a purse, so it won’t work out.” 

“You usually carry around a backpack, right? Hell, there are even ebooks for your phone,” she exclaimed as she put her book down.

“Why don’t you get ebooks then?”  

“Because it’s not the same,” She rolled her eyes, “now stop distracting me from my emergency.” 

Sebastian leaned back in his seat. “Alright, maybe the whole purse book wasn’t such a bad idea.” 

“Thank you,” She said in a sing-song voice. 

Once they’re back at his apartment, Sebastian is quick to head back into his office. She follows, “don’t forget you also have that meeting with your publicist at three. She wanted me to make sure you knew about it because last time you forgot and well… she wasn’t too happy about that.” 

Sebastian nods as he sits at his desk, “Do you mind picking me up some breakfast at the bakery down the street?” 

“Do you ever eat at home?” She asks abruptly. He looks up at her from his laptop, “like it’s just an observation.” 

“I mean, I typically make myself breakfast but I’m not much of a cook–why am I telling you this?” He realizes while she lets out a chuckle. 

“Egg white bagel sandwich with an everything bagel?” She asks making her way out of the house. 

“Yes,” he then hesitates, “please.” 

“He’s learning!” She exclaims, walking out of the office. Sebastian waits till she’s out of sight to allow himself to smile, he shakes his head at her antics. 

“She’s something else,” he whispers to himself, his attention going back to his laptop. 

Taglist: @cjand10 @floralwsloki @kandis-mom @mcira @angelbabyyy99

[artaxlivs]

Lie On My Front

“Lie to me.”

“What?” Stiles flails, rapping his knuckles painfully against the door jam as he spins to face Derek. “Why? Why would I do that?” He sticks the knuckles of his injured hand into his mouth, sucking at the pain, knowing it won’t help but the placebo of thinking it does being too well trained into him.

“Because I can’t go back to the way we were.” Derek growls, glaring at Stiles’ hand until he drops it from his mouth.

Oh.

“Because of the–”

“Yes,” Derek growls, cutting him off and taking a step away from Stiles. “Because of that.”

That.  

That part of their day yesterday when Stiles and Derek had woken up, tied together in a crate that was clearly on or in a moving vehicle. A crate that was only wide enough for one person, only long enough for one and a half people and not nearly tall enough for two people to be stacked on top of each other.

That part where Stiles had woken up in the dark, a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth and rubbed his face into his pillow - a pillow that turned out to be Derek’s junk. He was facedown between Derek’s splayed legs, their forearms were bound tightly together Derek’s right arm to Stiles’ left, and vice versa, Derek’s splayed fingers cupping Stiles’ elbows. Not only was it a horribly awkward way to be tied together, it made it impossible to reach for anything because neither could bend their arms while the other was strapped to them.

“Stiles, get your face off of my–!” Derek growled but it was low and sounded pained.

Scoffing, Stiles said, “Sure thing, where- where do you want me to go?” He tried scooting away but pulling on Derek’s arms just caused a thunk in the dark where he must have hit his face off the ceiling of the crate.

“Ow, what are you–”

Stiles pushed himself upwards this time, trying to crawl so his face was on Derek’s washboard abs. Jesus, those washboard abs. Here he was, finally within licking range of them and he couldn’t even do it. Could he? No, no he couldn’t. Consent and all that. But god, Derek smelled so good. All clean sweat and musk. And Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to smell that no matter what Derek’s arguments to the contrary, he was turned on by having Stiles’ face in his lap. Which was definitely a revelation.

It wasn’t just the rush of earthy musk giving him away either, it was the growing bulge that brushed against Stiles cheek and jaw, even the tip of his nose, every time one of them attempted to adjust their position again.

Stiles was pretty fucking sure that he himself smelled of desperation and need. Which he probably used to smell like all the time, back in high school. But it’s been a long fucking time since he was a desperate bisexual virgin forced to watch the hottest man alive walk around shirtless all the time. No, over the past six years, he’d not only grown into his long arms and legs but he’d also learned to use his Bambi eyes and full mouth to his advantage so desperation and need were not something he experienced anymore. He was a card carrying queer now who had dated a full rainbow spectrum of people. 

But.

Derek. This was Derek. It didn’t matter that Stiles was twenty-two years old, a college graduate, and got laid on the regular now. Put him in an awkward position with Derek freaking Hale and he was reduced to a bumbling horny teenager again. Stiles pressed his hips down against the wood of the crate, trying to gently crush the hopes and dreams of his inappropriate boner. Because hope was happening. Derek had kept Stiles at arms length for years. And Stiles had tucked his crush way down deep because he knew that Derek had *trauma* and he didn't want to step on his toes.

But.

Derek lied. He'd lied to himself and to Stiles. He was a lying liar who lied. On his back. And his front. 

“Hey, did you know that only when you lie on your front is it actually called prone?”

Huffing, Derek mumbled, “Stiles, what the are you even talking about?”

“Supine. I’m actually talking about supine. That's what it's called when you lie on your back but Scott and I decided it’s a secret word for a werewolf STI, thoughts?”

“I think you’re an idiot.” Derek growled but it was fond. 

“Oh hey! I have an idea,” Stiles exclaimed as it hit him. He tried to wriggle up a bit so he could rest his chin on Derek’s belt buckle. Derek whined, trying to pull his knees up to protect himself probably but only managed to squeeze Stiles between his thighs instead. Which, of course, was a wet dream come to life and Stiles’ boner completely ignored propriety and fattened up in his too tight jeans. Jesus fucking Christ.

Derek’s boner had the same idea apparently because it was currently pressed into the side of Stiles’ throat. It was actually pressing up against his jaw as well. Stiles gave an indelicate snort as he wondered how appropriate a monster cock joke right now would be.

Probably not very. 

“Stiles.” Derek seethed through clenched teeth, squeezing the backs of Stiles’ elbows with his fingertips. Thankfully he was sans claws.

“Stop moving!” Stiles choked out, feeling the press of Derek’s bulge against his Adam’s apple.

“You stop!” Derek hissed, closing his legs around him until Stiles was forced to lay perfectly still.

“Okay, okay, listen - I’ll press my elbows together and you grow just your pinky claw out and try to carefully cut the binding off the other arm.”

They tried it. It didn’t go well. Stiles elbowed Derek in the dick trying to keep his face out of his crotch and Derek drew blood on the first attempt at cutting the binding.

“Dammit!” Derek cursed. “I can’t do this because I can’t see the angle well enough. I’m going to knick that artery in your elbow. You’ll have to direct my claw.”

“How do you propose I do that?” Stiles asked incredulously, “My hands are kind of,” he attempted a jazz hands maneuver which jostled both of them and Derek bucked up, hitting Stiles in the chin with his huge freaking dick, “...tied,” Stiles finished lamely. 

Sighing, Derek got them back into position. “With your teeth,” He finally said, knowing full well that Stiles was going to laugh his ass off at the irony of that.

Barely, just barely, Stiles managed to avoid dropping his face into Derek’s lap to giggle like a schoolgirl over that. Turning his head, he pressed his face into his own bicep and stifled his laughter.

Still chortling a bit, Stiles groped around with his mouth in the dark until he found Derek’s bent pinky, he took the knuckle between his teeth and felt Derek’s claw slide out of the end. It’s slow going, made worse by their position and the heat of the small crate. It’s got small ventilation holes so they won’t suffocate but it’s doing nothing for the temperature. If only one of them wasn’t a freaking werewolf who wasn’t basically a giant furnace on legs.

Nice legs, muscular and hairy, currently closed around Stiles in a way that is definitely going to be featured in his Stiles’ time later. Above him, Derek keened and his hips made an aborted thrust up into Stiles throat. He bit down hard on Derek’s finger so as not to lose his grip on it and then Derek’s hips did roll up.

He tried not to but the hard cock pressing into his jugular made Stiles gag reflexively then he moaned and his eyes rolled back in his head. Jesus - he could just pull Derek’s zipper down with his teeth and see how much of that freaking monster he could in his throat instead of against it. Sixteen year old him would have been mortified and freaking out but now Stiles is more experienced at reading the body signals of other people. He knows that Derek is feeling the same thing and holy shit is that a turn on. Why are they even bothering to pretend otherwise?

“Stiles, the binding, cut it loose. Please.” Derek practically begged, all of his muscles tense like he’s a second away from saying fuck it and humping Stiles’ face. And Stiles is into that. He’s also very into Derek begging and finds himself wondering if Derek ever bottoms because honestly, it would be a travesty for no one to enjoy that ass. “Stiles!”

Stiles couldn't answer, his mouth was still clamped around Derek’s knuckle. He got back to it, using the claw like a tiny saw and it’s not as simple as he’d hoped. The binding isn’t ropes, it’s more like a sleeve wrapped and wrapped and tied in several places so it doesn’t just start to unravel when they cut through the first one finally.

They tried to pull their arms apart anyway but it didn't budge. Mother fucker. Whoever did this to them deserves props first because Stiles has never been tied up in a way that he can’t get out of alone and second, deserves a kick to the face because fuck them, seriously.

“Okay, let’s go again,” He told Derek as sweat pooled at his temples, on the ridge of his upper lip, the back of his neck and at the base of his spine. It’s hot and he’s got a raging boner. He wants a bottle of water and a bottle of lube, it doesn’t even have to be in that order.

They carefully shift around, adjusting their arms for the new angle. Stiles has to wedge himself around Derek’s hip to where he’s almost lying on his side so that he can be under their bound arms to get his teeth around Derek’s pinky again.

Everything got awkward much faster this time. Stiles bobs his head up and down, back and forth. Derek curled his hips toward Stiles to give him more room to get to the bindings but it also brought Derek’s junk into contact with the hollow of Stile’ throat and his collarbone. He moaned around the finger in his mouth, resisting the urge to bury his face in Derek’s crotch and let himself be ridden until his toes curl.

They’re through the next section of binding and they don’t stop this time by silent agreement. Stiles wriggled up a bit, adjusting his body deeper into the V of Derek’s legs. The heat of him there is almost burning through Stiles’ thin cotton T-shirt and he can feel the tight rounded swell of Derek’s balls as they tap against him with every jostle of the back and forth sawing motion.

Derek moaned through what sounded like closed lips, possibly over fangs. His other leg moved to clamp around Stiles and his hips rolled up, grinding his erection against Stiles’ chest. Stiles swallowed hard, closing his lips around Derek’s knuckle and unconsciously dragging his tongue along the back of the finger. Swallowing his own moan, his body rolled up to meet Derek’s and he sawed faster and harder, giving up any pretense that they weren’t dry humping their way to freedom.

Stiles could feel Derek’s hips straining to press his cock against Stiles for more friction but it’s become impossible with how he’s now pretzeled under their arms and still sawing away. There’s a ripping noise as they cut through the next section and finally Derek pulled, tearing the fabric bind to free that set of arms The binding was still unraveling even as Derek growled low in his throat, reached down to cup the back of Stiles’ nape and thrust his crotch into Stiles’ face.

Stiles didn’t mind at all. He gripped Derek’s hip with his blissfully free hand, pulling him closer as Derek humped against his cheeks and nose. His lips catch on the fabric of Derek’s jeans and he’s probably going to have rug burn but he doesn’t give a single fuck. He just breathed Derek in, mouthing at the huge bulge as he dry humped Derek’s knee where it’s trapped between his thighs.

His blood was beating to the rhythm of his own racing heartbeat in Stiles’ ears and he could hear Derek grunting and whimpering when suddenly Derek arched into him, let out a low pitched whine and came. Hips stuttering and bumping against Stiles through the aftershocks. It was hot and bitter in Stiles’ nose and mouth, made his eyes burn a little but the knowledge that Derek basically just came on his face sends him over the edge and he’s coming too, fingers dug into Derek’s hip and rutting against Derek’s leg as he grunted through his own orgasm.

He’d love to have lied there, sated and content in this warm enclosed space with Derek but Derek had other ideas apparently. They’re both still panting and sweating when he sliced the other bind open like butter, shoved hard enough at the lid of the crate that it exploded outward. Stiles doesn’t even have a chance to access their damage or location before Derek is throwing the roll up door up at the back and climbing up onto the roof.

There had been no chance to talk after Derek had dragged the driver out and figured out he was only a driver and knew nothing. Then they were too busy helping all the other supernaturals that had been trapped in their own crates in the back of the truck. The box truck had been headed to Los Angeles to the harbor but there’s no info in the truck about where it was going from there. 

Stiles had shown up today, at Derek’s, ready to research the how and why and who with him but instead, Derek has decided to have a melt down apparently.

Stiles would be pissed about it but he knows Derek. He knows him really well after all these years. He’s probably blaming himself. Paige, Kate, Jennifer Blake - even Braedon who’s been a mutually agreed upon no-strings-attached booty-call - all of the people Derek has been with had ulterior motives or didn’t want an actual relationship with him.

Stiles has his work cut out for him. Because he’s pretty sure he and Derek have been slowly moving toward this since the day they met. Now, this idiot thinks he took advantage because he’s somehow unaware that Stiles’ isn’t still a sixteen year old kid. Well.

“It’s your fault.”

Derek’s face falls but he nods, “I’m sorry. If you–”

“No,” Stiles tells him, shaking his head like Derek doesn’t get it. “You said lie to me. So I did.”

“What?” But then he realizes what Stiles is doing. “No, I shouldn’t–”

“Have walked away from me afterward?” Stiles says. “Yeah, you shouldn’t have.”

“No.” Derek growls. “Stiles, I used you to…to...”

Stiles rolls his eyes and crosses the room, pushing Derek until his shoulders hit the wall, “Derek, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a consenting adult and I consented - very enthusiastically. You’d know that if you’d stop punishing yourself.’

Crowding Derek further against the wall, Stiles lets one of his hands fall to Derek’s hip, pulling their bodies flush. The other hand is up on the wall next to Derek’s head, caging him in. It’s a callback to all the times Derek threw Stiles up against a wall or backed him into something. This time though, Stiles has the upper hand.

His nostrils flare and Derek breathes out, “Stiles, please.”

Groaning, Stiles leans in and brushes his lips against Derek’s softly because he was right, Derek begging is a thing of beauty. He wants to take him apart, soothe all the broken parts that other people left behind and then put him back together again. He wants Derek writhing and out of his mind with need just like yesterday, begging Stiles to let him come.

But he wants something else more.

“Please what?” Stiles taunts, squeezing Derek’s hips and dipping down to run his teeth along the tendon at Derek’s shoulder and neck. 

Whimpering, knees almost buckling at the touch on such a vulnerable spot, Derek keens, “Please fuck me.”

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Stiles admits and when Derek’s shoulders stiffens and he tries to pull away, Stiles presses in, clarifying, “I want to love you,” he shrugs one shoulder and adds, “and fuck you. I want both.”

Derek snorts but relaxes into Stiles’ touch, “Is that all?”

Smirking as he leans in to capture Derek’s mouth, Stiles whispers, “That’s just the beginning.”

This fic can also be found on Ao3 at Lie On My Front.

Thanks @okdeannawrites from the prompt "Lie to Me" and the challenge to write something short just for fun. I needed to shake out some writer's block and this was the perfect exercise!

[ohtobeleah]

Panic Room // Jake Seresin

Summary: Between his ex, bird strikes and suicidal mission parameters it’s hard to keep a lid on things. So when you help Jake through a panic attack in the locker room, you become his lifelong lifeline.

Warnings: Panic Attacks. Mentions of bisexuality. Jake Seresin x Platonic!F!reader.

Word Count: 1.9k

Author Note: Day Eight of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Panic Attack. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It’s the way Jake's flight suit feels on his body that comes first. Usually the Normex onesie doesn’t bother him, but as he made strides up the tarmac straight for the hanger, it felt like the weight of the world had come down on him. Crushing his existence, petrifying his soul. 

“Hey Hangman—“ He doesn’t register whose voice it is until he sees Fanboy racing up beside him. “You okay man?” Jake doesn’t respond, he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other until he’s found himself back in the locker room. It’s empty, thank god. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Next it’s the heat, his body temperature has skyrocketed. He can feel his skin boiling against the surface of the sink he’s choosing to rest his palms on while he stares himself down in the mirror. Jake can recognise the reddish hume that’s taking his cheeks hostage and the ruby red rash that’s littering his neck. A physical attribute that gave away immediately what was happening. 

But he couldn't stop the fear from consuming him entirely. 

“No no no no no—“ Not long after the heat had started to overwhelm him, the palpitations began. Jake could feel his heart hammering away inside his chest and while he tried to calm himself down by splashing water across his face, it didn’t seem to help. It didn’t curve the rise of his panic—the overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety that crept up on him like a title wave growing and growing and growing in the distance. 

You know something’s building, but by the time you understand that it’s a wall of water heading your way you’re already caught in its deathly path. Unable to run, unable to get out of the way. You have nothing left to do except to hold your breathe and hopefully float up to the top of the wall of water coming at you at a hundred miles an hour. 

“100–“ It’s a coping mechanism. “96, 92, 88–“ Jake Seresin has done this for many years and he’d continue to do it for many more. “84, 80–“ But it’s not helping, nothings helping. “Okay, you’re okay—“ Nothing ever helps, not the usually cool, calm and cock sure Aviator that people look at for reassurance in themselves. Jake wasn't afraid of anything–not according to his fellow aviators. So when he watched from the rec room as Bob and Phoenix burned in, he knew that he had to get out of the line of sight before he completely lost his mind. 

“Fuck!” Jake pushed himself away from the sink and started to make his way over to his locker, he’d just watched Natasha Phoenix Trace and Robert Bob Floyd fall from the sky before their F-18 crashed into a fiery ball of debris and it sparked the fuse, the ever looming presence of existential danger that lingered over Jake. The fear he had since day one, that he’d burn in and burn in alone. 

The panic attacks though, they started right after his first air to air kill. Something about the gravity of taking another life really made his heart race. They got worse however when Bradley Rooster Bradshaw broke his heart, left him high and dry and said he couldn’t do their relationship anymore. Jake thought it was ironic that his callsign was Hangman when it was always Bradshaw that was leaving him out to dry. 

And being here? In Miramar with his ex boyfriend skulking around like he was the most downtrodden man on planet earth and his colleagues falling from the sky and the goddamn mission parameters that sounded an awful lot like a suicide mission, made up a perfectly concocted environment to seemingly disintegrate the facade of an egomaniacal man who just couldn’t stand to be second place. 

Jake had worked too hard on his exoskeleton persona for it to be flawed by panic attacks. He wouldn't let his colleague see him like this, so weak and broken and– 

“Hangman?” Fuck….

Your voice sounded muffled at first, maybe it was because of the buzzing in Jake's ears or the fact he could practically feel his blood pumping in his veins. “Jake?” But the more you spoke the clearer your voice became. “Fanboy said he saw you run in here, you alright?” 

“Fine.” Jake struggled out as he undid his flight suit and ripped his arms from the sleeves. “All good.” You knew he was lying, you could hear the struggle in his voice. But when you saw how soaked his black T-shirt was against his skin, you knew it had to have been bad. 

“Hangman?” You stepped a little closer, slowly, like you were trying your very best not to spook a wild animal. “You can talk to me, if you want to.” You and Jake were considered for the most part to be friendly. For a little while before you were called back to TopGun—you were his wing woman when you were both assigned/attached to the strike fighter squadron VFA-151 Vigilantes. “But if you say you’re okay, I believe you.” You and Jake had gotten close there at one point, and maybe in another life the two of you could have been more. 

But it wasn't meant to be. He was far too arrogant for his own good and you were far too inside your one head to be able to deal with such an extraverted soul. 

“I’m—“ Jake stopped himself for a moment as he spun around to lean against the lockers. He couldn’t stop the panic as his hands shook and his heart raced, causing him to hyperventilate. “It’s just a—“ 

“Panic attack.” You finished Jake's sentence for him as you moved closer to sit on the bench in front of where he stood. You didn’t want to invade his personal space, but you wanted him to know that you weren’t going anywhere unless he asked you to leave. “My uh—my sister would experience them pretty frequently when we were teenagers, she always felt like she was dying.” 

“I can’t breathe.” Jake had all the coping mechanisms he ever needed in order to persevere through an attack. But right now? With you sitting in front of him as he leaned up against the lockers with a heavy heart inside his chest and skin that looked flushed to the touch—he’d forgotten them all. “I can’t breathe!” 

“Okay.” You stood slowly, reaching out for Jake’s hands to give them a firm squeeze. “Here, squeeze my hand back.” You’d never seen your wingman like this before, so vulnerable. Jake was normally this broad shouldered man with emerald green eyes who could conquer anything. He’d said it himself at the Hard Deck, the mission didn’t confront him. But it clearly did. “Come on, squeeze my hands.” When Jake finally did what you were asking him to do, you smiled softly up at him and reached out for his cheek to gently rub the pad of your thumb across the flushed skin of his cheek. 

“Good, now look at me Hangman.” Jake again did as he was told and you really had to stop yourself from getting lost in his emerald gaze. “Take a deep breath in, hold it just for two seconds, and slowly exhale alright? I’ll do it with you, keep squeezing my hands.” 

Jake never took his eyes off you as he slowly but surely did as you instructed. He slid down the lockers, his knees had become too weak to hold the weight of the world that had crumbled around him. 

“I don't even know why–” Jake tried to speak as he slowly but surely slid down the lockers, his back scratched against the doors as he did so. “Why you’re doing this?” 

“Easy, easy big guy.” You cooed as you followed Jake down as his back slid down the lockers. You sat next to him, taking deep breaths in and exhaling just the same. Still squeezing each other's hands until Jake wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. “And we’re friends aren't we? Or something like that, it's what friends do I guess.” 

“Are they alright?” Jake sighed as he let his head fall to your shoulder, exhausted and completely numb. “Phoenix and Bob?” You knocked your boot against Jakes in return. 

“Yeah, they’ll probably be kept overnight for observation but I’ll check with Mav once I’m finished with you.” You replied as you just sat with Jake, still hand in hand. He didn’t want to let go. “And for the record, I don’t think you should be picking fights with your ex in the middle of debriefing sessions—if you still love him, just tell him man, my god.” 

“Bradshaw doesn't deserve it, he likes to play the victim of his own confidence.” It was the first time Jake had actually confirmed to you that Bradley was in fact the ex that left him out to dry. There had been a few nights over a few beers that Jake had mentioned his ex boyfriend, but never did he ever mention a name. You only started to connect the dots once you were here and had seen the pair of them interact. “I just like stirring the pot.” Jake smiled as he felt his heart rate settling. “Probably stirred the pot a little too much though.” He sighed before admitting defeat. “I haven’t had a real bad one like that for a while.” 

“If you ever have one again, you can always call me.” You say without hesitation. “I mean it, I’ve got you.” 

“You’ve got me do you?” Jake asked as he raised his head from your shoulder. You turned to look up at him and nodded. “Best wingman around, aren't you Ace?” You could tell Jake was settling into his skin again, the panic had begun to subside into his mind again, the adrenaline had begun to deplete and he was mellowing out. He was calming down. You had calmed him down.

“Someone’s gotta look after you.” It was the nonchalant shrug that made Jake chuckle. He liked you, he always had. You were fun and energetic and never had a bad thing to say about anyone, including him. Which was refreshing all things considered, everyone always had someone bad to say about Jake Seresin. 

“And that someone’s you?” Jake even thought to himself a time or two that he could see himself rebuilding his love life with you. Meaningless one night stands were fine, but he wanted more—he needed depth and intelligence that buckle bunnies and Bradley Bradshaw never seemed to give him. All the lights were on and yet no one was home with that man. 

“Unfortunately that responsibility was bestowed upon me.” You teased as you stood and reached out to give Jake a hand up. He took it even though he didn’t need it. “So yeah, I’ve got you anytime you need me.” 

“I’ll do my best to remember that.” Jake replied as he cleared his throat, the room spun for a moment but he caught himself quickly. “I should probably have a shower.” 

“Yeah—just don’t have the water too hot, it can mess with you after an attack.” You explained like it was knowledge that just roamed free in your kind. Jake raised a single brow your way. He knew. He knew by the crescent moon scars in your palms that you knew what it was like to drown on dry land.

“Like I said, my sister gets them bad too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~*

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt t

[noses-in-winter]

Hey, She Has To Wake Up, Anyway (18+)(F sneeze, F/M, tickling into sneezing awake, foreplay)

These characters are Lor Sheldon, awkward nonbinary guy who is terminally horny, especially about noses and everything they can do! He has a hard time not feeling shy about that. He's extremely bisexual and gives off that energy, don't worry. I've written about him here and here. Feat. his total soulmate Piper (who I just wrote about here!) who is also terminally horny and is SO pumped about getting Lor to explore his kinks. They're both mid-30s in this which is when they're peak obsessed with each other.

In this fic, Lor wakes Piper up from a nap by making her sneeze (it's cool, they've talked about this, she's into it). Lot of detail about how he's touching her nostrils and stuff. Went kinda wild there.

please don't reblog to non-sneeze blogs, minors do not follow or interact THANKS

She had encouraged him more than enough times for Lor to believe that Piper meant it when she said she would be happy to…indulge him, with anything he wanted to do regarding her nose, and the fantasies he had associated with it. Christ, he had a lot of fantasies. Thank fuck he hadn’t divulged them all the last time they were stoned together. Even so, Lor still cringed at the fuzzy memory of spilling such an intimate detail of his life. Willingly! No gun to his temple or anything! 

God, he told her so…so…so much about it. “It” being sneezing. How it made him feel…something. Especially about her…something. And sometimes his…something, if he was being honest, but that was not a something that Lawrence Sheldon was willing to face. 

 Her positive response to his confession was damn near intoxicating, though. Piper had been so…supportive. Happy, even. Cradling his face with one hand and using the other to lace her fingers with his. 

She’d made a few changes since then that would seem uneventful to the man who found these actions completely vanilla. Lor didn’t have the courage to comment yet but, Jesus, did he notice. He noticed how she evidently skipped her bottle of daily antihistamines once or two mornings a week. Piper’s allergies didn’t knock her down the way Lor’s could unmedicated, but she still sneezed more often with heightened intensity. She also started to let her voice go a little high as she was gearing up for a sneeze in a way that made his dick so fucking hard--

Shit, shit, he needed to cool it. Piper still slept soundly with her head in his lap. The last thing he needed was for his needy cock to stir her. 

They’d had a few conversations on the topic since then. None that lasted long, before Lor felt too shy to continue. Piper never rushed him. She simply made sure he always knew that she was 100% ready whenever he wanted to explore this fascination together. 

“Surprise me, Sheldon. I’m up for anything. You’re in charge.” 

Woah, fuck, why did that turn him on so much every time he remembered it? 

Piper would answer favorably if he were able to ask her permission. No doubt in his mind about it. There would be zero hesitation. So it would be…okay, right? To just do it? 

He swallowed, the light of the television casting shadows around the room. He had to get Piper’s head out of his lap, anyway, right? She never wanted to stay on the couch too long after falling asleep. They both always seemed to sleep better when they drifted off in each other’s arms in bed. They woke up apart, reliably, but that much-needed intimacy while fading into sleep was…also intoxicating. Still foreign to the both of them, certainly, but also welcoming and comfortable. Safe. Loving. Home.

Yeah. Yeah, she’d want him to make a move. 

Lor took a deep breath before beginning.

He started by lightly setting an index finger on her pointed nose. Piper simply continued to breathe in and out steadily as she lay facing the television. With a little more pressure, her nose started to scrunch. Piper sniffed once, nestling her temple into his thigh. Fuck, she was cute.

Lor swallowed, watching to see if she was stirring awake. Weed typically turned her into a pretty deep sleeper, but he was too paranoid not to check. Once Lor was satisfied with the low rumble of her snore, he continued. 

He rubbed the tip of her nose in small, slow circles. Fuck, okay, he was already sweaty just watching the way her nostrils moved with the teasing little pushes. He added a touch more pressure when Piper seemed unbothered. Hmm. Okay. Rubbing wasn’t all that effective, was it? Maybe…something else? External?

Lor glanced around at his surroundings before his eyes settled on the down blanket draped over Piper’s sleeping form. Perfect. He already saw the quill of a feather waiting to be pulled out of one slight snag in the fabric.

Lor pinched the quill and eased it out of the pillow. Ohhhkay, it was lengthy and perfectly fluffy. His stomach gave a flustered little flip at the sheer mental image of each delicate little tuft brushing against the equally delicate inner walls of Piper’s--

Hoooooo, fuck. Focus on the mission, Sheldon.

 After tracing around Piper’s nostrils a few times, Lor watched carefully to gauge a reaction. Again, she mostly sniffled and scrunched her nose. It wasn’t until he took a deep breath and managed to ease the feather into her nose that Piper’s nostrils flared in response to the stroke of afterfeather. Oh. Not only did her nostrils flare, they goddamn quivered. 

Piper sniffled sharply. Made a little noise in the back of her throat. Her hand moved. Lor pulled the feather out of her nose just before Piper could knuckle at her nostrils. He supposed the way the feather brushed the walls of her nose on the way out wasn’t helping things, judging by the little snag of her breath. 

She grumbled, now half-asleep as she rubbed at her nose. It didn’t seem like Piper was aware of Lor’s intervention, but he held his breath, anyway. 

Piper’s lashes fluttered, but she didn’t fully open her eyes in the light of the television. She stopped scrubbing so aggressively at her nose, but the back of her hand now lingered a few inches before her face. She sniffled with mounting congestion, nostrils now a quivering pink. She breathed in slow, sleepy pants. 

He tried again. Piper reacted sooner this time, almost the exact moment that the tender feather stroked at her septum. One nostril scrunched with a snort as she murmured wordlessly. Piper pressed the back of her hand to the underside of her nose, scrubbing and scrubbing until Lor heard a truly shiver-worthy squelch. When she lowered her arm, there was a streak of dampness on the back of her hand. Lor fought an eager little squirm at the very vision. 

Gauging how far he could go this time, Lor once more considered his options as Piper settled again. Even as she rested comfortably beneath the quilt, her nostrils still scrunched and spasmed with sniffly breaths. 

….Huh. 

He moved slowly, carefully, to give Piper’s nostrils a light pinch with his thumb and index finger. Lor’s stomach dropped pleasantly, as if he were on the best roller coaster of his life, when Piper’s nostrils fought to flare against his fingertips. He didn’t budge. She took in a truly nostril-quaking sniffle in response, eyebrows beginning to knit together.

Nostril-quaking. Jesus, he was going to have to incorporate that one into his internal Horny Lexicon. 

Piper’s breath finally started to snag, now that her nostrils weren’t allowed to squirm out of her control. That tickle progressed rapidly before his eyes.

This was the greatest idea of his life. 

Lor eased his fingers off of Piper’s reddened nostrils. They immediately widened, taking up as much space as they could. Though her nostrils had as much freedom to quiver as possible, the damage had been done. Lor watched for several beats, waiting until the perfect moment to give the underside of Piper’s nose one slooooow stroke with the feather.

That pushed her over the edge. She convulsed with a sneeze covered by nothing but the back of her hand at a distance. Piper’s head bounced slightly in Lor’s lap as her whole body shuddered, buckling into itself. “Hed’DTSCHH’ooh!!”

Lor’s stomach flipped at the vision of a fine mist bursting from her urged nose. Jesus, he could write an entire thesis on the way the sheer strength of that sneeze was increased by her nose’s initial resistance alone. Piper took in one gulping breath before sneezing again, completely uncovered this time, nostrils shuddering out another expulsion of mist. 

Piper let out the littlest moan of relief after that second sneeze tumbled out of her. She fanned lazily beneath her nose, using the same hand that she had just sneezed against. Piper sniffled and finally opened her eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the television for several moments before she sneezed again, taunted by the glow of the screen. “Addh’DTSHH! Hh…hh! HuhHHD’schoo!”

“Bless you…” Lor said quietly, cheeks burning. He could lean over to the end table to grab the box of tissues, but the thought didn’t even occur to him. At the moment, he was nothing but thoroughly enchanted with the way Piper’s nose just…moved. When she sneezed. When she was gearing up for or recovering from a sneeze. When she was just relaxed enough with him to be so comfortable with letting her nose control her for a moment. 

Piper didn’t say anything straight away. She started to ease up from her place on the couch, letting out one uncovered sneeze halfway through the process. F-Fuck, the mist of that sneeze in the light of the television was mesmerizing, wasn’t it? 

Piper took in two rapid, gambling hitches as another sneeze crept up on her. Oh. Oh, she just wasn’t stopping. This time, Piper was able to yank the collar of her shirt over her nose. She kept herself steady with one arm on the couch, but was promptly knocked off-kilter when she sneezed damply into her shirt. Lor wrapped both arms around Piper’s torso, keeping her as steady as possible. He leaned back into the couch, bringing Piper with him. 

“Bless you,” Lor breathed, blinking at Piper in a lovestruck gaze. Feelings of affection and attraction flooded him as Lor dipped his head to set a kiss in Piper’s hair. “A lot. You okay, babe?”

“Mmm..sdf! Fuck, sorry…” she exhaled, finally managing to sit up fully on the couch. Lor dutifully let her go. Piper started to blink slowly, adjusting her eyes to the light. “Didn’t mean to sneeze like a spray bottle there. Jesus, I really needed that, though. My nose f-feels---sdf, ugh, I dunno…itchy….”

“I-It’s okay,” he answered too quickly. Lor gulped and fumbled for the tissue box on the table. “I don’t mind. I mean, you know I don’t, but…y’know.” 

Piper nodded, rubbing lazily beneath her nose. She seemed to be flaring her nostrils consciously, as if testing if there was another sneeze hidden anywhere. “Yeah, I do. I dunno, I dreamed something was…in my nose? And it tickled like a motherfuck, like a-...” 

She trailed off. Lor followed Piper’s gaze until it reached the feather that sat in his lap. Lor was quiet for several seconds before a low chuckle rumbled in Piper’s chest. She gave him a knowing little smirk as she reached for him. 

“Shel. You beautiful slut. Did you…?”

He felt like he was shrinking beneath her gaze. Lor gulped and glanced away, shame flooding every inch of him. “Um. I-I’m sorry. It was…”

“Hey, hey. Don’t be,” Piper hummed, reaching for him with ease. “That’s hot. Seriously. No idea you had it in you, Sheldon.” She snorted with laughter. This, apparently, stirred another tickle in her. Piper sniffled sharply, reaching to pinch at the freckled bridge of her nose. She massaged up and down. “Hoh, fuck. It’s right there.” Piper eased her free hand down to his thigh, delivering a squeeze to it. Her other hand continued to rub up and down the side of her nose with steady care.  

“...C-Can I help you?” Lor asked on a nervous breath. 

She gave him a slow, sexy bat of her eyelashes before her expression crumbled with a shaky hitch. The sneeze seemed to back off almost immediately, allowing Piper to scoot closer to him. Oh, fuck. Okay. Yeah. He could do this. Piper tilted her head back as she faced him, nostrils exposed perfectly to Lor. She moved closer to him on the couch, hand still in contact with his leg. He swallowed fiercely, enchanted with the way her nostrils squirmed and flared with each breath she took. Was she doing this on purpose? Or was this just naturally happening to her body? Both were incredibly sexy explanations. 

Lor set one hand on the small of Piper’s back before easing the feather back into her nostril. This just sent her nostrils quivering further. Her chest started to rise and fall at a faster pace than a moment ago. 

Lor didn’t stop. He continued to steadily twist it around in her right nostril. Her breath snagged as Piper gave her head a shallow nod. Okay. He could see it in her face. That tickled. He was--he was going to make her sneeze. And she was helping him do it. And she was okay with that. 

Piper let her head loll lazily to one side. Lor followed her motions with his hand, feather still held tight between his fingers. He carefully stroked down the inner walls of her nose before Piper let out a stuffy little chuckle. “Th-That feels kinda good, Lor...” 

“Y-Yeah?” Lor clarified, a smile starting to twitch at his lips. “Think I can…make it better?” 

Piper could only nod, jaw slack and nostrils squirming with an impending sneeze. He continued to give the inner walls of her right nostril taunting little strokes with the feather. It wasn’t until he started to ease the feather out of her nostril did she react with one heady, desperate hitch. Lor quickly released the feather, allowing it to linger in her full, damp nose. He then watched Piper shudder out a…truly unprecedented sneezing fit. 

The feather wasn’t completely expelled with her first sneeze. It was powerful, sure, and misted the front of Lor’s sweater, but the feather remained lodged in her overactive nose. In fact, the fourth sneeze of the fit was what finally expelled the feather from her nostril. It lay, damp and useless on Lor’s thigh. 

Piper let out a quivered little breath, nose scrunching with a much-needed sniffle.

“Bless you,” Lor said on a weak exhale as Piper started to clean up the underside of her nose with a group of hastily grabbed tissues. She tossed them carelessly to the floor without a second thought once her nose was somewhat tidier. 

Her nose, clearly, wasn’t quite finished with her yet. She sneezed again, disastrously, as soon as she threw the tissues aside. Piper gave one stuffy groan. She gazed at him through eyelashes heavy in maroon glitter from the day. “Hey, Sheldon,” she breathed, nostrils flaring with a lazy inhale. “You….sdf! You still wanna shower before bed?” 

Lor didn’t even question her motivation for this seemingly unrelated question. He just nodded, eyes fixated on her nostrils. 

 “Good.” Without looking away from Lor, she drew the bottom of his sweater up until it lingered just before her nose. He shivered, both at the sudden chill on his abdomen as well as the vision of Piper’s nose hovering desperately above the fabric of his turtleneck. That he was wearing. Right now. 

Again, Piper’s nostrils fluttered. Her chest rose and fell with taunting hitches. Fuck, she had to sneeze. She had to sneeze so badly, didn’t she? He wanted her more than anything.

Piper buckled into his sweater with a sneeze. Oh--and then another. She let out this lasting moan of a hitch that Lor knew was added dramatics. He didn’t mind. He liked that she was adding dramatics for him. That kinda made this even better, right? That she was so excited to tease him? Jesus, and tease she did.

She took in a slow, testing breath through her nose. When she didn’t immediately sneeze, Piper rutted her nose into his sweater, rubbing with quiet desperation. After several seconds of this, Piper groaned and dropped his sweater. Instead, she leaned forward to trail her nose along his jawline. Fuck, the tip of it was still damp.

“I still have to sneeze…” she murmured, starting to kiss at his neck. Almost instantly after, she leaned back with a gasping snag to her breath. “Hh! Hhh--!” He’d have to take this sweater off in a moment, right? 

Folding the sleeve of the oversized sweater over his hand, Lor pressed it right beneath Piper’s nose. There was no hesitation on Piper’s part as she clamped his hand firmly over his. She shuddered out a muffled sneeze. 

Yeah, he was hard. He was very, very hard. 

A moment later, Piper left out three more rapid sneezes into the fabric. They all sounded absolutely desperate, even while being quieted by his sleeve. Lor’s breath was stuck in his lungs the entire time. The warmth of those productive sneezes met his palm through his sleeve almost immediately. 

After one final sneeze that was particularly cushion-shaking--”AhHYD’SCHuhh!”--Piper exhaled through parted lips. Her knitted brows slowly began to relax, now only twitching slightly. “That’s better…” she murmured, using Lor’s covered hand to rub beneath her nose. Lor was expecting her to realize that his hand was, in fact, attached to this convenient fabric that she had turned into a tissue, but…Piper met his eyes, teary though hers were. She knew exactly how he would feel about this. 

She started to move his hand, up and down against her nose. Lor watched in absolute awe as Piper’s jaw started to slacken again. Was it possible that he could feel her nostrils flaring from beneath his sleeve?

When it seemed like Piper was just about to sneeze, she let his hand go. Lor blinked as she leaned back from him, her activated nose continuing to scrunch and twitch. She reached for the damp bottom of his sweater, beginning to pull it up. Lor could think of nothing he wanted more in that moment than to comply.  “C’mon…” Piper said with a damp sniffle. “L-Let m-hh!--me sneeze on more of you.” 

“Fuck, I love you,” Lor exhaled with adoration in every syllable as he carefully removed his sweater. He tossed it aside without fanfare. There were barely a few beats before Piper leaned forward, nestling her nose against his bare shoulder. Her nostrils were damp and squirming and right. There. 

“I love you, too,” Piper said quietly, sniffing congestedly along his collarbone. 

Lor shuddered and gulped, placing his hands on her shoulders. Despite everything in his body screaming at him to stay just like this, he gently pushed Piper back so they could meet eyes. 

“I--I want this,” he said on a shaky gasp. “I really, really want this. I just--I’d feel better if I could go, I-I dunno, shower, and get myself kinda ready for--for everything this is gonna lead to? I-I just prefer those kinds of…experiences to be, um. Clean. Me, clean. Y-You clean, too, actually. If that’s okay.” 

Piper leaned back from him at Lor’s prompting. She sniffled, knuckling one nostril as she offered him a teary smile. “Me, clean, too, don’t worry. I could use a shower, now, anyway. Helps to…unstuffify me. Add that to your horny lexicon.” 

She knew him so well!

Lor nodded. “You can go first, if you want.” 

Piper snorted, her lips pulling upward into a smirk before the expression crumpled again. She sneezed down towards Lor’s now-bare chest, making him shiver at the feeling of the uncontained sneeze making direct contact with what felt like every inch of him. 

She sniffled lazily and finally completed that smile, taking both of Lor’s hands. “I mean that I could use a shower with you.” 

Oh. “Oh!” Lor gasped, a snaggly smile immediately spreading across his face. Lor started to stand, offering his hands to help Piper up as well. “Okay! Let’s--yeah! Let’s go!” 

Piper laughed, starting to pull off her own T-shirt as she followed Lor. “Hold your horses, buckaroo. Take a breath. You’ll be able to rob me of my treasured virginity in a sec. Lemme at least blow my nose first…”

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Was Javier Garcia "not bisexual enough" in ANF?

I feel like everyone reading the title of this essay is going to say, "Well, yeah? Obviously? Javi didn't show any interest in men outside of that one optional moment of flirting with Jesus and then he was confirmed bisexual by one of the writers after the season ended. If they wanted to make him bi, they should've done more with it because that's not enough."

That's a commonly expressed opinion no matter where you look, and it's not like it's unfounded, either.

On a surface level, I agree. While I understand the excitement of learning a character is canonically bi, in the case of Javier Garcia it still feels like celebrating crumbs tossed to us by Telltale after they had their cake and ate it, too. They snuck in some bisexual representation at the last minute for queer audiences without it being explicit so the homophobes wouldn't throw a tantrum.

Stuff like that happens. Sometimes the representation is subtle or implied in the subtext. Or, the queerness is condensed into something digestible and sanitized for straight audiences. Or, it's stated after the fact with little to no actual evidence to support it in canon.

Hell, even if it is obvious, like with Clementine being bisexual in TFS, you still have biphobes who will die on the hill of denial. Even now, in the year 2024, we have people insisting "Clem being bi came out of nowhere! They should've showed it in earlier seasons if they wanted it to make sense. I'm not homophobic but here's my essay PROVING that violentine is bad and forced and that Clem isn't bi!" Or, on the other extreme, "Clementine is a lesbian to me, bisexuality isn't real :)"

But I've already talked about Clementine and what her bisexuality means to me. I want to talk about Javier now.

He's an interesting case, both in the way his queerness was handled and portrayed in the game, and how audiences received it... as in, a lot of people said, "That's great and all, but is it really representation when it's not actually present? It's not enough."

That. That right there: "It's not enough." That's what I want to break down and examine.

Is Javier Garcia not valid as a queer character because he didn't reach this concept of "enough" in the eyes of the player? But what would have been "enough" then? Do people really understand what they're asking for when they discuss what they think Telltale should've done? Does it actually matter if Javier is queer when it comes to the plot and his journey as the protagonist, and if it doesn't matter, is that okay?

Should we just accept these crumbs sprinkled in our hands?

I want to make it clear that I'm but one bisexual examining a bisexual character and doing an analysis. I've climbed out of my bog to write this because I want to discuss Javier and the writing as it pertains to his queerness, or lack thereof. I'm also aware that I'm not providing any irrefutable, concrete evidence here one way or the other; I'm speculating about Javier through a queer lens. I encourage any other bi, pan, or other queer person to add to these discussion points, whether in agreement or not.

Prior to TFS, the queer representation in TWDG wasn't great...

Though the games do get progressively gayer as the seasons go on. And some even get to live! Progress!

S1 had... uh, none? Wait, is that right? ...Yeah, no, I'm tuning my gay radio and it isn't picking up any signals, Captain. Nothing gay in these waters.

S2 had Walter and Matthew, who both died shortly after being introduced. There's some homoerotic undertones between Luke and Nick but nothing was ever confirmed. Also, they both died, so... not great.

The Michonne mini-series had Jonas and Zachary, but Zachary will always die no matter what. Jonas can die, too, but it's determinant. Paige was confirmed to be queer by the writers, though. Uh, progress? Kind of? Not really, it's never talked about and you only pick up on her feelings for Sam if you squint and pay close attention. But hey, at least she got to live!

Then, in ANF we have Javier, our playable protagonist, and Paul "Jesus" Monroe, a gay character who also showed up in the comics and TV show. Would'ja look at that, they both got to live! I should also mention nothing was ever confirmed about Ava but... c'mon, y'know? Captain, there's a faint signal on my radio; when you know, you know. Except she died, to, so... still not great.

Then came TFS, who really said, "Screw you, here's all the gay!"

They gave us bisexual Clementine with both of her romance routes. Violet, Minerva, James, mentions of his past boyfriend, Charlie... Aasim was planned to be bisexual and I don't see why we can't reclaim that for him, and one day I'll crawl out of my bog to write my analysis on the queer-coding/subtext of Louis' character because if I read "lmao Louis is such a Straight" one more time, I'm going to let the gators take a bite out of me just so that I can feel something other than irritation for once.

Sigh. It's so hard being a "Louis ain't straight" truther out here, so few understand.

My plights aside, there's no avoiding the queerness of TFS. Even if your Clementine doesn't romance anyone, or romances Louis, you can't avoid the fact that Violet and Minerva were girlfriends at one point. It's determinant if James will tell you about Charlie, but that doesn't change the fact that James is gay.

But it runs deeper than that. This is a story about these troubled youth who were abandoned by their families and teachers, the ones who were supposed to love and help them, because "something was wrong with them, they did something bad... they need fixing."

These young people have to fight against an oppressive group of adults looking to steal their autonomy, change them, mold them into what's expected to survive. Their identities don't matter to the raiders. All the raiders care about is erasing such identities so that they fall in line and obey, and if they don't comply, they die... or worse.

Yes, it's a story about Clementine and AJ finally finding a home, but no matter how you play, it's also a narrative steeped in queer themes and subtext. You can tell that the people who made it not only cared about these things and wanted them weaved throughout the story, but that some of them were queer themselves.

But where does that leave us with Javier?

With everything TFS did, it's easy to look back at ANF with a critical eye and pinpoint its flaws in every aspect. While I don't believe it's the worst game Telltale ever made [I mean, Minecraft Story Mode exists], in my opinion, it's the messiest game in the main series. It's not bad, but I'd much rather play S1 or TFS.

For all the criticism it received, most players did like Javier as the playable protagonist. Well, they did once they got over the fact that Clementine wouldn't be taking on that role again, and was instead relegated to only being playable in flashbacks.

Javi's personality can vary depending on player choices, but for the most part, he's a charismatic man who loves his family. He used to be a professional baseball player before he was booted from the league for gambling. He can be cocky and sarcastic, and it usually lands him in trouble. He tends to cope and deflect using humor. He has a past of being irresponsible and selfish; he wasn't even there when his father died, despite knowing he was dying of cancer. His relationship with David is complicated, only made messier if he and Kate end up together. He's trying his best... for the most part. Javi even ends up being a father figure to Gabe and Mariana after they all thought David was dead, and he's very open about his grief following Mariana's death.

But given everything we learn about him while playing ANF, how do we know Javi isn't straight? After all, his main love interest is Kate, a woman. He also has opportunities to flirt with Eleanor, another woman. He doesn't show any signs of being attracted to any of the men who are around... until Paul "Jesus" Monroe.

At the end of ep5, Javi and Jesus have a conversation where one of the dialogue options is, "I like you, Jesus." Granted, that doesn't have to mean "like-like;" you can say you like someone without any romantic intentions. Plus, Jesus IS a cool character. Players who picked that option likely weren't thinking of it in a romantic sense.

It's the way that Jesus responds to this option, though: a flirtatious smile, lidded eyes, the deep dip of his voice.

Javier: I gotta admit, man. You're a fucking badass! Jesus: You're a real charmer... You know that? Through and through.

It's not difficult to see Jesus is being flirtatious, and Javi sees it, too. How does he react?

Forgive me, but I'm about to over-analyze this six-second gif. I love his reaction so much. That subtle jump of his shoulders as if a jolt just ran through his gut at the way Jesus lowers his voice. Surprised, and then the movement of the brows, the slide of the eyes, and the little upturn of the mouth says to me "Oh… oh." Caught off guard, perhaps a little bashful.

Option 1: Javier: Oh, you know what they say. Takes one to know one. Jesus: That they do. Option 2: Javier: Are you really sure you don't want to stay? There's room. Jesus: Oh, uh... I'm sure there is, but... we got other people depending on us, Javi. Just the way it is. Option 3: Javier: Meant to tell you... That, uh, armor you got is great. Jesus: Oh... Oh, uh... Hmm... Well, uh... Thanks, um... It gets the job done.

Javi knows what Jesus is getting at regardless of your choice. He understands this is flirtatious, but is startled since he likely didn't consider that Jesus likes men, too. We the audience have a better chance at knowing if, especially those familiar with the character from the comics and the TV show. Javi wouldn't because why would he? It's not like Jesus is obvious and flaunting with the fact that he's gay.

What's funny about that is, given our topic of discussion, we could also argue that Jesus wasn't gay enough, couldn't we? If we're going to pick on Javier for not being more open about his sexuality, then it's only fair that we pick on other characters, no? Did Jesus need to be gayer? Would that improve ANF?

In fact, now that I think about, was James gay enough in TFS? Was one moment where he talks about his boyfriend, a scene that's determinant so not every player got it, enough? What about Minerva? We know she and Violet were girlfriends before Marlon traded her away, that's information that's unavoidable, but did she actually reach this apparent high standard of "enough" in the eyes of the audience?

Are we entitled to unequivocal evidence of queerness, and the heaping amount we deem necessary, otherwise it's not good enough and shouldn't be bothered with at all? Are more casual displays of queerness bad?

I can already hear people jumping to defend James and Minerva, and likely Jesus, against this because "it's totally different!"

Sure. Javier's situation is different from James, Jesus, and Minerva's respective situations. James actually uses the word boyfriend and he keeps a picture of him and Charlie in his pocket. Jesus appears in The Walking Dead universe outside of the game with more evidence of queerness. Minerva's past relationship with Violet is made clear even when you don't pursue Violet's route, not to mention the underlying metaphor of conversion with her being changed/brainwashed/traumatized by the raiders to be just like them.

Javier is different because that scene with Jesus is the only in-game evidence of his queerness, right? Then he had to be confirmed as bisexual by one of the writers once ANF ended.

Surely, they could've brought up the fact that Javier's bi earlier, right? Made mentions of a past boyfriend, or had a flashback about Javi coming out to his family? Why only let him flirt with Kate and Eleanor? Why wasn't there an option to flirt with Tripp, or some other male character? What about a darker turn where David didn't accept Javi for it? David's portrayed as an antagonist, anyway, why not toss a little homophobia into the mix? Why not reveal it if Javi rejects Kate? What if Kate was so hurt by the rejection that she asked him, "It's true, David was right. It's because you like men, isn't it?"

It feels like they decided at the last minute to just toss it in, like someone walked into Telltale one day and said, "Y'all, I just thought of the funniest thing- Javi should be bi so that we can make jokes about him swinging both ways!" And then everyone clapped.

Here's the deal: Something about this sits differently with me, and that's probably thanks to one of ANF's writers, Adam Esquenazi Douglas.

He's the one that confirmed Javier as bisexual.

Adam had his hand in writing for 4/5 episodes, and he said he wrote the scene where Javi can flirt back with Jesus, but it's that last line of his: "After all, they always say write what you know."

I don't know how many of you who are reading this are writers, or creators in general, but I assume many of you are. It doesn't matter if you write fanfiction, create fanart, write essay posts or headcanons or whatever. I have a firm belief that creative people pour so much of themselves into their work that, if given enough material and studied enough, you can get a glimpse of their soul. Even if done unintentionally, we project ourselves into these works; the characters, themes, conclusions, everything.

Am I suggesting that Adam was secretly a bisexual mastermind who threaded queerness throughout the entirety of ANF and we were all too blind to see it? No, and if he did, then he needs to step forward and tell me so that I can study ANF frame by frame to compile the secret evidence into a new essay.

...Actually, on second thought, maybe don't do that to me, Adam.

My point is, yes, it's true that it's likely Javi being bi was added in at the last minute... but can we really dismiss Javier as "not bisexual enough" when Adam had influence over Javi's character throughout the whole season? And I ask again: is the casual queerness of Javier bad?

Time to speculate and answer some of those questions about Javier

Let's talk about Kate for a minute. She is Javier's main love interest, whether you choose to accept her feelings or not, so she can give us a good point of reference for what Javi looks for in a partner.

Kate and Javi share a similar sense of humor that bounces well between the two. Kate wants to travel, Javi's well traveled from his time as a profession baseball player. They both exist in this space of "we're kind of the family screw up." Granted, Javi's more in it than Kate is, but you can see parts of her that come through where she's a little rebellious, a little not good enough [ironically]. They both feel trapped in their situations; Kate in her marriage, Javi in a slow downward spiral of not knowing what to do with himself now that he's booted from his career. They have complicated relationships with David, and together, they've raised Gabe and Mariana through the years after they believed David was dead.

They're a lot alike in many ways, so this is hardly an opposites attract type of romance.

What's interesting is if you then look at Jesus, he has some similar qualities to Kate; a sense of humor even when things are looking bleak, they to help and protect people, are willing to throw themselves in danger to save Richmond. Then if you add Eleanor, the other person Javi has some flirtatious dialogue with, you can apply those qualities to her, as well... though the big difference with her is Eleanor sells the group out because she wants to stay.

With the little information we have, we can speculate on Javi's preferences. He prefers someone more similar to him. I know, I know, everyone loves a good opposites attract tale, they're so different but similar at their cores, they fill in each other's gaps, yada yada... except not everyone is like that, obviously.

My working theory is that a partner who would act as the opposite of Javi would be someone who acts like David... and does Javi really want to date someone like his brother? Though that then opens up a whole can of worms since if Javi and Kate are so similar, and David married Kate... this isn't an essay about David, but that's certainly a thing to chew on.

With that, I suppose we can answer the question, "But if Javi's bi, why didn't he flirt with any men prior to Jesus?"

What men?

No, seriously, where are all these men Javi's supposed to flirt with? Are they hiding? I know you hid them in the game, Adam, where are they?

Wait, do you mean Tripp?

I don't want to step on the toes of any Javi/Tripp shippers out there, but let's actually think about this. When we meet Tripp, Javi's just been separated from his family. He was knocked out and tied up by these assholes who caught him siphoning their gas, then this teenager cut down a tree which resulted in him getting into a car accident. Said teenager then tried to rob him before agreeing to escort him back to his family but first, they gotta go to Prescott. I wouldn't say Javier's in the flirtatious mood by the time he meets Tripp.

But he can flirt with Eleanor, right?

So, why not Tripp?

Because Tripp is a man and he has feelings for Eleanor. That's made quite clear from ep1. He told Javi that he and Eleanor had a thing once. Sure, Javi could still harmlessly flirt with him, but have we stopped to consider that Javi isn't as confident with openly flirting with men like he is women? After all, who initiated the actual flirting between him and Jesus in ep5? That would be Jesus, and it happens after the danger is over and Javi doesn't have to worry about dying for a little bit.

Listen, I understand that Tripp is big. He's built like the lumberjack of our dreams. He has a nice beard. He's not afraid to talk about his feelings even when he fumbles all over them. He's strong and caring and brave. He could easily toss me over his shoulder like I'm a sack of flour and then throw me across the room... what's not to love? Surely, if Javi actually liked men, he would've made a move on Tripp at some point.

Except, would he? Is Tripp even Javi's type? Because I'm pressing X to doubt.

Also, why does he need to?

This is where I question why some people think Javi has to flirt with a bunch of men to "prove" he's bisexual? I'm sorry, do you believe there's a quota all bisexuals have to meet to maintain their membership card? You have to flirt with this many genders a month otherwise they'll revoke your premium status?

Sometimes I wonder if people unintentionally lean into the "promiscuous bisexual" stereotype, or if they do genuinely believe that bisexuals have to express interest in multiple people of different genders in order to prove themselves queer enough.

Did we ever stop to think that Javi's just not like that? An open flirt, I mean. Yeah he's charismatic and funny and all that, but Kate, Eleanor, and Jesus all initiate the romantic dialogue with him first; Kate tells him she needs to get laid hint hint, Eleanor calls him pretty, and Jesus calls him a real charmer.

Tripp never gives him any indication that he's interested or that he even likes men, so why would Javi make a move?

As for any other man? Again, what men? Max? Dr. Lingard? Clint? Conrad? And forget adding a new character to ANF; it could barely handle the characters it already had and you want to add a new one just for Javier? Let's face it, Tripp was the best option and that's just it, he wasn't an option.

"But my Javi WOULD flirt with Tripp and the game didn't give me the option!"

And there it is.

Javier isn't your OC

ANF isn't a massive RPG where starting a new game brings you to a character creation menu, and you get to decide every factor about the character you want to play.

ANF is an episodic, point-and-click Telltale game, and Javier isn't your OC. Like with Lee and Clementine, there are some things you just don't get a say in, and I think that gets to the player sometimes.

When I sit down to play a Dragon Age game, I go into it knowing that my character is mine, I get to decide who they are and who they're interested in. DA as an RPG has the capacity to give me a bunch of romantic options both in and out of my party that shape who my character is.

When I sit down to play TWDG, I go into it knowing that while I have my own Lee, Clementine, and Javi, I didn't create them but I am influencing who they become. I know it's a Telltale game, and that means limitations.

These games have always had the "illusion of choice" criticism chucked at them from the beginning. Usually that pertains to the choices you make that affect the overall story, but ultimately don't matter in the end.

For example, it doesn't matter if you save Carley or Doug because no matter what, they both die. My counter-argument for this has always been that the choice does matter in the way that it shapes your playable character, and how if affects the characters around you. A Lee who saved Doug over Carley had reasons for making that choice, and in turn, has a different experience going forward than a player who chose to save Carley.

Does it matter who shoots Duck in the woods after he's bitten? Or if he's left to turn? No matter what, he's going to die, so is that the illusion of choice? I don't believe so, because it does matter. It affects player experience.

That being said, I believe players who become invested in this series, especially those who engage in fandom, develop a warped sense of what should've been, forgetting the nature of a Telltale game. I know this because that's the foundation my blog was built on.

Javier Garcia isn't a blank slate. You didn't create him. He had a life before the start of the game, he has a personality that you didn't choose for him, and there are things you have no control over. If anything, we act as an influence over the TWDG playable protagonists. Most every option given is something that could reasonably play into their character. I say "most" because we all remember that [GLASS HIM] moment where Javi tells David that Kate's going to leave him and we were all like "THAT'S NOT WHAT I THOUGHT THAT OPTION WAS!" and it felt out of character.

Anyway, you don't dictate who these characters are but you get sway over the direction they take.

Javi can be a real prick to everyone, but that plays into the selfish and entitled part established with his character from the beginning. You can play him as genuine, trying to step up and do better for the sake of his family, another thing brought up from the very beginning.

"But why couldn't I make Javi flirt with Trip!?"

Because it's not an option. I don't know what else to tell you. I don't know what you want me to tell you.

ANF is a Telltale game that centers about Javier Garcia. It's a story about a man who, prior to the outbreak, screwed up and was wasting his life away. His relationship to his family sat upon a rocky foundation, crumbled by his own hands. He wasn't even there when his father died. We follow this man through a story of a family trying to survive, we watch him reunite with his brother and risk losing everything that kept him grounded and going. He experiences grief and anger and sorrow and happiness. In the end, he comes out of it all a different man, for better or worse.

That man just also happened to be bisexual.

And that's the thing: This isn't a story about Javier's sexuality. He isn't going around making moves on these elusive men that mastermind Adam Esquenazi Douglas maybe hid in the game somewhere because the game isn't about Javi liking men.

It's a game about his complicated relationships with Kate and David made messy by Kate being in love with him, and whether or not Javi loves her, too.

It's about Javi helping Clementine back on her path after she's been alone and bitter for so long. It's about them fighting to take down a group of people doing really shitty things to other communities. It's about losing Mariana and avenging her by killing the man who shot her. It's about Gabe feeling conflicted about his father, a man he always wanted to be just like, after realizing that David isn't this idealized figure Gabe thought he was.

It's about the promise Javi made to his father.

The fact that Javi happens to be bi doesn't matter in the grand scheme of the plot. It's just something that's apart of who he is, but because it's a small detail we feel was added in at the last minute, we decide it's not enough.

But what if it is enough? Do we even truly know what this concept of "enough" is?

Throughout writing this piece, I've found myself in a loop.

I'm happy Javier is bisexual. -> But should I be? -> We shouldn't settle for crumbs, we deserve more explicit representation. -> But is there really anything wrong with casual representation where the story doesn't focus on sexuality? It doesn't take away from other stories that do. -> I'm happy Javier is bisexual. -> But should I be?

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Queer stories are important and our voices need to be heard. We need stories that don't shy away from experiences that are hard to stomach. We need queer stories told by queer people. We need stories that are unapologetic, that aren't afraid to face their audience with pride. Stories that don't say "yeah but we have to bend a little to the bigots to maximize our profits." We need these stories that inspire us, hurt us, make us cry and piss us off. We need queer stories with happy endings that give us hope, that push us to seek a better future so that new generations of queer people don't feel alone in their struggles. We need queer stories that make us feel heard, seen.

Do stories with casual representation of queer characters fit in there somewhere, too? I think they do, because TFS is a casual representation story.

Clementine is bi and it isn't a big deal; she never has a moment where she's openly questioning, she doesn't have this big coming-out scene, there's no tears shed or anything. She isn't stomping around with her bi pride flag and announcing who she is with a heartwarming speech.

She just is.

Same thing with Violet. She never comes out to Clementine as a lesbian, no one ever calls her that, she just is.

Clementine's romance with Violet is treated just as it is with Louis, sincere and normal. No one questions her or Violet because to the Ericson crew, it is normal. They knew Violet and Minerva were together before but no one has any quips about it, positive or negative.

If you romance Violet but then save Louis, he makes mention that Clementine and Violet are close so why save him? But Louis, for as much as people side eye him for making jokes and never taking anything seriously, doesn't say anything more. He could've made a joke, "Ah, you like girls, I guess I never stood a chance then, haha." He doesn't, because it's not something out of the ordinary for him and it's not something he feels the need to pry over.

If you go fishing with Violet and Brody, you find the carved heart with Violet and Minerva's initials and AJ asks what it means. Clementine can tell him they were girlfriends, and AJ doesn't go, "Oh, that's weird," or "Huh, I didn't know girls could like each other." He just goes, "Oh. Love." and moves on because he grew up differently, it isn't a big deal to.

Even the antagonists aren't out here spewing homophobia, at least that I recall.

The Ericson crew are a generation that understands and accepts. Where Clementine could end up with either Louis or Violet and no one will raise a brow, or even feel compelled to signal their alliance like, "Ah, yes, I am accepting of you and your choice, good for you, I am an ally, I'm making this about me."

The Final Season of TWDG is great, and it proves that the writers at Telltale at the time wanted to explore these topics earnestly. It wasn't pandering or trying to score "woke points" with the LGBTQ+ community like some bigots will insist. If it were, it would've been way more obvious about it, I think.

Casual queer stories or serious stories that tackle the hardships of being gay?

Like the bisexual I am, I like both and everything in between.

Clementine didn't need to prove her bisexuality as "enough" in TFS, but since the circumstances were different, did Javier?

I'm going to take the potentially controversial road and say no. I understand why we wish they did more, and I understand why people have frustrations over creators dropping that information without actually having to commit in their work... but I also have some appreciation for the casual reveal of Javi being bi, regardless of why it was dropped.

Javier is valid. He didn't need to "prove" anything.

In a way, I believe we do have some control over the portrayal of Javier, and that's by engaging in fandom. If you were disappointed that Javi's queerness wasn't explored in game, then find a fic that does explore that side of him, or write your own. Engage with other people and their work about it. Comment on fanart, fics, and thought pieces. Write brain dumps. Find other Javi/Tripp shippers and prove me wrong, prove that Tripp is indeed Javi's type and have fun while doing it.

Telltale gave us the crumbs, so let that inspire us to bake a cake.

I don't think this concept of "not enough" is the most productive way we could go about discussing topics like this. Not everyone has the same level or standard, and every work is a unique case. But I think it is fun and productive to share ideas of what we would've done differently so that it may inspire us.

ANF, for all of its flaws, could be a tool used to teach us where our priorities are in storytelling, and influence what we want to create ourselves.

In conclusion: Javier Garcia is enough to me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to crawl back to my bog and begin research into the meaning and metaphors behind walkers and their existence.

But before that, I want to give a big thank you to @pi-creates for making the Javi gif used in this essay, as well as for listening to all my bullshit during the writing process.

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: Send a Thank You Note

(a continuation from Jo and Hob BFF shenanigans... @teejaystumbles you wanted to know what happens next!)

Dreamling || Rated E (CW/tags: nsft, getting together, this is really just an excuse for a bit of smut, Dream is a smartass (affectionate), bisexual Hob Gadling, just because Dream is on top doesn't mean that he doesn't want to take dick)

"Hob," Dream stops in the shadow between two streetlamps. Perhaps that is why his expression seems darker when Hob turns to him, one eyebrow raised, and nods for his friend to continue. "Was Johanna Constantine accurate in her assessment of your desire for me?"

Hob flushes again. Not quite the shade that Dream had observed on him earlier, but it's close cousin. It is sweet. And probably answer enough. But he waits to hear what Hob would say.

"Ah, well..." Hob meets Dream's eyes despite the butterflies trying to make him turn tail and run. One hand flies up to tug at his ear and Hob feels fifteen shades of 1789 all over again. "She does like to embellish the truth, and it is not like I am beholden to exactly what she said, but it isn't like I am against somethi-" He is stopped by delicate fingers on his jaw.

Dream has stepped into Hob's personal space, knows he is closer than the propriety of this age would dictate, which is exactly his intention. He takes a moment to marvel at the warmth of Hob's skin, its texture from stubble, how it trembles when Hob sucks in a breath through his teeth.

The hiss of air draws Dream's eyes to Hob's mouth in a way that is too heated to be unconscious. Hob has wanted this, to just be touched by Dream, by his Stranger, for so long. He lists forward, he can't help it, and when those fingertips press just a little more firmly into his face Hob swallows hard, licking his lips.

The sound that catches in Dream's throat upon seeing that tease of Hob's tongue should embarrass him. It should. He is a King. He is more than a god. He is Endless.

He, as the current turn of phrase goes, doesn't give a single fuck.

Dream might as well sky-write his intentions in lightning for how slowly he moves forward. Hob feels the anticipation as a physical weight pressing into his chest, restricting his breathing to shallow huffs. Dream's palm slides up to cup the stubbled jaw and he leans imperceptibly closer. They don't even close their eyes, Hob lost in endless blue even as their noses brush and Dream's lips touch the barest bit to his.

Hob is the one who caves, bends like tall prairie grass in the wind, hands grabbing at Dream's coat as he closes his eyes and kisses Dream for all he is worth. If he is only going get one shot, he might as well do it right.

But the answering rumble that comes from Dream - part growl, part purr, part groan - causes something in Hob to snap.

The kiss becomes a battle and before Hob can muster his forces for a second attack, he has backed Dream into a wall with a thud.

He opens his eyes. And sees dark green with very familiar brass numbers.

Not a wall.

Hob has Dream pressed up against his front door. Which was previously three blocks in front of them.

But Dream is still kissing him like the only air he can breathe is in Hob's lungs, so he doesn't have time to worry about it.

Dream takes his hand out of his coat pocket, dropping any remaining grains of sand, and pushes off the door with his hips and shoulders. After a twist, Hob's back hits the door harder than Dream's did, the door knocker rattling and a low moan pouring into Dream's mouth. He grabs Hob's thighs just beneath his ass and hefts, sliding Hob up the flat surface until he is at least a head taller, until he can suck on that tempting throat and feel those moans from the outside.

Hob clings to Dream's neck and shoulders, head falling back and Jesus fuck if he knew being manhandled like this was such a turn on he'd have sought out beefier partners sooner. Then teeth bite into his neck hard and Hob yelps.

"Do not dare think of others whil-" Hob's tongue in his mouth stops Dream from continuing that sentence for a solid two minutes. When they part, he has other priorities. "Daydream of your bedroom."

Dream's voice is a command and Hob immediately has the room in his mind's eye, imagines pushing Dream down into his sheets, crawling over him and then there is a strong breeze and...

It is a simple trick to take the location from Hob's mind, step them into that dreamspace and then from there into its Waking World counterpart.

"Bloody hell." Hob looks around, wide-eyed. When he turns back to Dream his pupils are blown and his mouth sinfully red. "You are going to explain that to me." He looks down, gets distracted, and starts biting at Dream's lips again. "Later. Explain later." They tumble into the bed, completely clothed, shoes still on, and Hob is about to pull away to say something sensible like "We should talk about this first," but then he hears Dream's fingers snap and suddenly there is not a scrap of fabric between them. "Oh, fuck me."

Dream hums, pressing as much of his skin to Hob's as he can manage and still maintain the boundaries of this form. "One of many options." He finds that the hollow above Hob's clavicle tastes lovely when sweat beads there, laps it up in long swipes that make the human beneath him shudder. "Is that what you would prefer?"

"Oh god," Hob wraps a leg around Dream's hip and grinds them together. "Anything." He repeats the motion and they both groan. "Everything. Yes."

Hob's incoherence strokes Dream's ego and he preens as he sits up, straddling Hob's thighs. The distance allows him to take in Hob's wrecked state, his mussed hair and flushed cheeks and sweat-damp chest. Their cocks brush against each other and Hob hiccups out a groan. When he wraps a hand around Hob the human arches and wails, clawing at Dream's thighs.

Dream knows what he wants, gives a thought to preparing this body for it, adding oil to make slick body parts that are not usually so. He lets go of Hob's dick and crawls forward, one hand on Hob's chest. "While I do abhor proving a Constantine right..." he reaches back and grabs the base of Hob's cock.

"Fuck! Dream we haven't oh Christ you are wet and open." Hob goes from alarm to awe to ecstasy in half a heartbeat, so quickly he feels dizzy. Then Dream starts to sink down and Hob holds on to bony hips for dear life as he watches his cock disappear into Dream's body. When Dream is fully seated Hob falls back into the pillows with a sob. "Dream. How?"

He plays with Hob's chest hair, runs nails over a peaked nipple, as he speaks. "I am the Shaper of Forms, Hob. I can take whatever form you, or I, need. Or want."

Hob tries to process that for a minute, staring up at the ceiling. "You... we are going to need to have a looong conversation after this because otherwise my bi ass is going to lose my job for not showing up for the next three weeks."

Dream laughs, a rumbling chuckle that Hob actually feels in his cock. "What a shame it would be," he starts rocking his hips, dropping down on just about every word, making Dream's speech keep time with the fucking, speeding up as he goes, "for you to be jobless. To have so much free time. Whatever would you do with yourself?"

"Alright, you sassy minx," Hob snaps his hips up as he pulls Dream's hips down and there, that made the eldritch being in his lap really moan. He repeats the motion until they have a rhythm, until they are lost to it. "Close," Hob whispers too soon, "I can't..."

Dream drives himself down harder and relishes Hob's cry. "We can strive for stamina later," he takes one of Hob's hands and wraps it with his own around his cock, fucking into the channel made between their palms. "Come for me, Hob. Please."

It is the please that does it, makes Hob arch and roar and come so hard he almost-

And then Dream's hand clamps down with his, what Hob would have thought would be painfully tight around his lover's cock, and his pale, lithe body, too, arches and then clenches so fucking tight around Hob that it stretches his orgasm longer, pulls more semen from his body in an impossible, lava-hot rush.

Dream watches as his own spend shoots up onto Hob's neck and face and even into his hair. Their is an additional frisson of pleasure that runs through him that he has marked Hob in such a way. He reaches up and smears some of it onto Hob's lips, who sucks at it greedily with a little whine.

Hob pulls Dream down onto the bed, a quiet grunt as his soft cock leaves his lover's body. His lover. They are on their sides, facing each other, and Hob's hand finds Dream's on his hip, tangles their fingers together. The silence that falls between them is warm with smiles and humid breaths.

"Hob, I know that humans do not always..." Dream frowns, gathers his words, and tries again. This is always where the Prince of Stories trips up, when trying to tell his own. "I realize that acting on physical attraction is not an indication of romantic intent. I would know your intentions, if only to moderate my own actions accordingly."

It takes a second for all that to filter through Hob's sex-addled brain, for him to parse the meaning of so many multisyllabic words, but when he gets it Hob can feel his eyebrows knitting. He traces Dream's cheekbone back to behind his ear and further to cup his skull and bring their foreheads together. "Listen carefully, my Dream," Hob hears his friend's breath hitch at that and he smiles, "Yes, as I have recounted the last one-hundred and thirty odd years to you it has probably been clear that I have been what most would characterize as a shameless slut. But if anything could temper me..." Hob takes a shaky breath. "I have wanted to approach you with romantic intent since June 8, 1489, when I realized how long, truly, it would be until I could see you again. So no moderation is needed, dove." He kisses Dream once, just a chaste press of lips. "Because I want all of you."

Dream surges forward and over Hob, gripping the strong muscles of his neck as they open to each other. They part because they are both grinning too widely, laughter too close to the surface, for their mouths to easily fit together.

"Oh gods," Hob giggles, "I am going to have to tell Jo."

"About that," Dream hums, all imperiously satisfied smile, "I might have let images of our, ah, activities filter into her dreams."

"Oh no, Dream. You didn't!" Hob is overcome with a fit of guffawing laughter that doesn't slow until his diaphragm hurts. "Are you telling me that you sent her the metaphysical equivalent of a picture of us in bed?"

Dream lets himself be distracted by the movement of Hob's neck, by tasting the curves of the muscles of his shoulders. "Perhaps."

Hob lapses into a fit of giggles again. "She is going to kill you."

"I would like to see her try." Hob can feel Dream smile into his skin. "Because I have a feeling if she truly has ill-intent then she will have to get through you first."

Hob laughs again, fingers tugging at Dream's hair until their eyes meet. "Aye, you are probably right, love. You are probably right."

[ladykailitha]

Look, considering I've only gotten involved in Stranger Things after season four and therefore haven't been around the fans during other new season filming starts, but my brothers/sisters/nb in fandom what the honest fuck is going on right now?

I have been a part of other fandoms when new seasons started filming and the worst I'd seen was BBC Sherlock. And you lot are behaving worst then they did.

And Jesus fuck, that's a fucking low ass bar.

(Again I am ship and let ship, kinktomato, and headcanon free for all)

But this is just what I've seen in my small deliberately secluded corner of the internet so forgive me if I get some things wrong.

Ronance fans have turned on Steddie fans.

Steddie fans are trying to eat each other over who tops and who bottoms between two horny, barely out of their teens, men.

Eddie is confirmed dead.

Dustin is trying to become Eddie.

People want Will dead because Noah Schnapps said some stupid shit regarding genocide.

And Argyle isn't coming back.

I'm going to give you my feelings on these so buckle up lets go:

1- Steddie and Ronance fans have turned on each other. And I know this because I doom scroll through steddie tag. That Ronance fans think Steddie fans are delusional and that they're going down after season five airs and there will be more Ronance fans because they're perfect for each other.

Where to even begin on this? First, never tell a shipper that their ship is never going to be canon because they don't care. Just ask all the Destiel, johnlock, and merarthur fans. Steddie fans are just going to ignore all but the most salient parts of season 5 if Eddie doesn't come back and write AUs for the rest of their lives. You know, like they have since the last scene on the Piggyback faded to black?

Secondly, I don't think I've seen much Ronance without Steddie. Granted I only read Steddie, but it seems that the two ships are tied pretty heavily together. The fruity four comes to mind. So maybe it's that they're getting tired of being a side ship next to a massive one like Steddie. Who knows. But apparently they're bitter.

And I say that because they keep tagging their anti-Steddie posts as Steddie to make sure we see it. Honestly, I just block them and go about my day. But seriously, I've never understood people's need to be shitty like posting hate on the tag for that thing. If you don't like it, fine. Block and move on.

Thirdly. Lastly. Maybe. I don't like Ronance. I saw the charms when I first joined the fandom and it was cute. Until the more I read and I realized that most of the time they don't bring up that Jonathan is even a person let alone Nancy's current boyfriend. That most of the time Steve is written wildly out of character about not caring that they're a couple and that he just wants them to be happy. Like, one Jonathan is severely under used in the fics I've read. Like Will doesn't have an older brother anymore. It's all Steve or Eddie. Which considering how you like your flavor of queer for Eddie or Steve (gay/pan/bisexual) Will talking to them about being gay makes sense, but Jonathan showed us in the last season that he is going to protect Will no matter what. Then blip! in fanfics, he's gone.

And then the whole Steve being okay with Robin not only dating an ex-girlfriend of his, but the ex. The one he thought he was going to marry. The one he dreamed a whole fucking future on. That was still hurt by two fucking years later. You either think very lowly of Steve or you just don't care. Because if you think Robin and Steve are the same person/share the same braincell/ride or die for life, there is no way even if Nancy threw herself at Robin would she even consider it. (I can write a whole ass post just on this by the way, don't get me started.)

2- This is the most recent bullshittery due to a current event about Sub Eddie. This is the worst discourse in any fandom and the worst offenders on either side tend say the most homophobic shit imaginable.

And it's pointless. Whether you think Steve is a top or bottom, whether you think he's dom or a sub. Same with Eddie. Everyone has their own flavor they prefer and they won't always match up with yours.

Personally I write them whatever feels natural for the story. But here's the major crux of the matter. I don't believe a little nerd in Bumfuck, Indiana has any idea what flagging is. I'm sorry. Left pocket, right pocket. Doesn't matter. The likely of him even knowing what BDSM is is pretty slim. I grew up in a small town. There will be some people that know, but that's because they know adults in the scene.

Don't like, don't read. Seriously, guys. Let people enjoy what they want to.

My personal feelings on the matter is that Steve is a bottom/sub because he deserves to be taken care of and Eddie would absolutely want to be that person for Steve, in and out of the bedroom. Again, you do you, beau.

3- The tombstone. Sigh. It was hard to see that. Not just because it confirms he's dead, but because it's been defaced. Most likely like fans have said, "BURN IN HELL" the poor bastard.

Having a tombstone doesn't necessarily preclude Eddie's return. There are several ways he can still comeback Kas! theory not withstanding. But the wank here is people jumping on Steddie shippers and Eddie fans in general pointing and screaming "see!"

Like we didn't have campaigns for Barb and Bob and (Billy). If someone's favorite character has died, don't be dicks when they want them to be resurrected a la Jim Hopper. Because that right there is the main reason people will still hold out hope until the final scene fades to black, okay?

I guess this one is just be nicer to each other, okay?

4- *sob* like holy fuck. Dustin you sweetheart. The long hair, the torn Hellfire t-shirt, the rings. The horns and sticking out his tongue. That poor boy needs several hugs STAT! And of course, people can't leave well enough alone on Facebook, I couldn't tell you how many of the comments were "steddie fans are going to make this all about them, aren't they?" Even though there wasn't a single comment by a Steddie making it about Steve/Eddie. But so many eye rolls. The other half were death threats against Noah Schnapp.

Which brings me to...

5- Noah Schnapp said some really shitty things about Zionism and the attack on Gaza. There is no escaping that. He said them. He double downed on them. And while yes it sucks he said those things, let's not forget he's still young and stupid. He's barely 18/19 years old. I remember being that age and saying stupid fucked up shit, and hoo boy does this make me grateful I was well into adulthood when the internet became a thing (24ish).

There are a lot of reasons to be upset by his comments and I get that. But death threats and calls for his dismissal/boycotts just seems excessive to me.

One, because the story began with a kidnapped little boy and a runaway little girl. If you get rid of one of them especially this close to the end it would fuck up the story. Now if there was more than one season left, sure. But this is literally the end. And for all we know, Will's character may already be doomed by the narrative. So calling for it now isn't go to do anything. Especially since they already had all the scripts written and would have finished filming if it hadn't been for the strikes.

Two, one person on the cast said something stupid and hurtful and you want to boycott the entire show for it? Like, what did David Harbor, Joe Keery, Maya Hawke, Millie Bobby Brown and all the others do to deserve you boycotting their show? If the last season tanks it could seriously hurt their careers, but hey Noah Schnapp said something bad, so fuck them?

I'm going to stop there, because this is another one I can go on and on about, but yeah. Don't hurt other people in your rush to vilify an 18 year old.

6- Eduardo Franco recently said that he didn't get a call so he didn't think he would be back. He was sure that ship had sailed.

Fans are upset, naturally. Argyle was a sweetheart and deserves better than to be cut from the story like that.

But thanks to the incident with David Harbor and Jim Hopper supposedly being dead, a lot of fans are saying he's only saying that because it's a "secret" he's coming back. Which would make sense for Eddie or any of the other character died. Martin Brenner, for example, but not Argyle. There would be no need for subterfuge. Plus, he would already be out in Georgia if he was coming back.

It's sad that he was done dirty this way, but if they split up the filming like they've done before there is still a chance he might get to come back, but as far as the current filming is concerned, yeah Argyle isn't coming back.

***

Just... be kind to each other. Remember that the other people on the end of the URL is an actual person with feelings. That people can like what they like so if they aren't hurting you, don't hurt them, okay?

[decastde]

Jesus christ, this discourse is exhausting. People wanting Eddie to forget the Chris stuff and have his famous ‘reallsation’ in the 3 mins left of the ep and then go and chastely peck Buck on the lips before they held hands and knitted all night.

A couple of months ago if Eddie had said that line they’d be eating it up. So fucking puritanical and yes, homophobic. Buck was into it. He’s an adult, he started it. It’s so disappointing to see people tagging LFJ on twitter saying they’re boycotting and he’s gross etc.

A mainstream show with men that look like that and bisexual representation that isn’t just fanservice (or women).

I follow the right people because any other media is full of awful takes that will inevitably lead to the actors stepping back again after being forced to address it and that’s more cringe than a flirty joke between two consenting adults.

Anyway, I feel less gross about writing Tommy fucking Buck up against a car now so win win.

[daenystheedreamer]

we need a list of every canonical gay ally in westeros

ok off the top of my head canonically

JON SNOW ALLY OF THE MILLENNIUM literally died for gay rights. he said fuck the catholic church satin is our BROTHER and he WILL be my squire. suck my DICK. paraphrased. and he got stabbed for it!!! westerosi saint sebastion. and reversed. and he's jesus. AND he could handle they/them pussy.

tyrion :) in the twow sample chapter he sees bokkoko making out with his boyfriend which he observes without judgement. and he's nice to sweets just kinda 🤨 about them and yezzan.

arianne<3 she's somehow confused as to why renly didnt want to fuck her i KNOW modern au arianne wants/has gay best friends. is cool with bisexual legend daemon sand who fucked her uncle and she's like idc he's still #husbandmaterial

olenna tyrell ACTUAL ally of the millennium. of course there's loras but she also settled for mace tyrell cos she knew daeron wanted to run around westeros with his little boyfriend.

on the fence, could go either way:

corlys+rhaenys were cool with gay ivf when they let luke be heir 👍 they still made him marry his cousin though cos feudal bloodlines matter more than the sanctity of gay fatherhood :/

hoster tully. let your gay brother stay unmarried ffs

confirmed homophobes:

FUCKING CERSEI.... remember when she was like UGH i bet that conniving skank margaery has her brothers... proclivities.... perhaps i can get one of her girls to say she beds them... 5 chapters later she's having gay sex. love her whole deal.

balon greyjoy cos he was mean to theon about the necklaces

the evil farman brothers who i shan't even name...

randyll tarly.

[laundrybiscuits]

(young man what do you wanna be tag)

“Why won’t you pretend to date me?”

“Jesus fucking—holy goddamn taint-biting hell, Harrington.” Eddie clutches at his chest, trying to recover from a minor cardiac event caused by opening his bedroom door to find Steve Harrington sitting at his desk. “Why the fuck are you here? How the fuck are you here? Also, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Wow, rude,” says Steve. “Wayne let me in. And Jonathan told me about the, uh, the Will plan. I think Argyle called it Operation Happy Ending? I don’t…I never know how serious he is about that stuff, man. Is he, like…okay?”

“Argyle is an enigma beyond mortal ken,” says Eddie fondly. 

“Sure,” says Steve. He sounds doubtful. “Anyway, why won’t you pretend to date me?”

Eddie groans, pitching backwards onto his mattress and scrubbing his palms over his face. “Because that idea sucks! It’s a bad idea! A better question is: why are you letting Jonathan Byers talk you into shit?”

“It sounds like a pretty good idea to me. It’s for Will, right? Jonathan said he needed to, uh, see a healthy model of a same-sex relationship.” 

Eddie would bet just about anything that the last part is a direct J. Byers quote.

“First, I’m not lying to a child. It’s deeply unethical, and as you well know, I am a scrupulously moral individual at all times. Second, do you really think it’s prime role model behavior to construct a fake relationship which will inevitably be unveiled as a sham and a farce? The foundations of young Byers’s world will be rocked, marking the beginning of a slow slide into disillusionment and crime. He’ll be serving twenty to life before you know it.”

Steve sighs, big and gusty like Eddie’s being somehow unreasonable. “God, you’re impossible. So just—actually date me, then.”

“Right,” says Eddie. “Obviously. Why didn’t I think of that. What the fuck, Steve.”

“What’s the difference between fake dating and real dating, anyway? We’ll go see a movie or something, get dinner.”

“Am I having a stroke? Okay, first of all, we cannot and will not do any of those things. Crash course on being gay in Hawkins: it sucks, and we will get jumped.”

“I’ll protect you,” says Steve, because he’s an arrogant dumbass with a white-knight streak a mile wide. Eddie likes him so, so much.

“Jesus. No, okay? You can’t fist-fight the entire goddamn world. They will literally, literally murder me. Lit-er-al-ly. This is—it’s a fucking stupid idea. You’re not even gay, what the fuck.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m bisexual.” Steve’s got a mulish look on his face. “So you should date me.”

“What.” Eddie sits up. “Since when? This is new information. Is this information I was supposed to have had previously? Is this information that other people have?” If Jonathan and Argyle knew and didn’t say anything, Eddie is going to murder them to death. 

Steve looks away, scratching at his jaw, and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t show when he’s nervous, usually, and it dawns on Eddie that Steve probably doesn’t have a lot of experience coming out of his sporty little closet.

“Ah, hey, I didn’t mean…I’m, uh, proud of you? I support you?” Eddie leans over to pat Steve’s shoulder awkwardly, trying his best to channel Murray but probably landing a little closer to Jonathan Byers.

“So…I can pick you up at six tomorrow?” Steve says. 

“Nope, still not happening,” says Eddie, and leaves the room. 

———

“I don’t get it. You’re, like, in love with him—” Jonathan ignores Eddie’s indignant squawking. “And he asked you out, and you said no?”

“He wasn’t asking me out for real! It was your bullshit garbage so-called plan, which is continuing to ruin my life. When I said I wouldn’t fake-date him, he just—switched tactics. He’s obviously trying to trick me into being part of this whole fake dating thing.”

“You realize that’s completely insane and makes no sense, right,” says Jonathan. 

“I am the Dungeon Master. I see all, and I know all.”

Jonathan squints at him with an undisguised and unwarranted skepticism. “You really gotta stop saying that, man. It does not sound as cool as you think it does.”

“I am extremely cool always. Also, I’m not in love with him. Gross,” Eddie grumbles.

“Don’t be homophobic, dude,” says Argyle peaceably. “Love is never gross in any form.”

“Excuse you, I will be as homophobic as I damn well please. Love is gay and I won’t have it in my house.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re joking but this is making me really uncomfortable,” says Jonathan.

“That’s homophobic, dude,” says Eddie. “Hush up and let the queers talk. I’m not in love with Steve, I’m in love with Argyle and we’re gonna run away and get married.”

Argyle shakes his head, laughing. “Nah, I don’t hang with matrimonial attachments. It’s all a scam by Big Wedding.” 

“Wait,” says Jonathan. “Seriously? Like, even if you fell for a girl?”

“If she’s the right lady for me, she won’t need a piece of paper to celebrate love. Love’s gotta live in the heart-house, Jonathan. In the heart-house.” Argyle taps Jonathan’s chest.

“Hear, hear,” says Eddie, who doesn’t have any particular opinions on the matter but would back just about anyone and any position in the entire world against Jonathan Byers at the moment.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve is definitely Eddie's bisexual awakening. Eddie stared at Steve's ass thinking that he's just jealous because he wished he could have an ass like Steve's. And, of course, he accidentally flirted with Steve.

"Hey, Steve, how does one get a great ass like that?" Eddie asked him one day.

Steve's blushing, partly because he's really flattered and partly because Eddie asked him that in front of the entire party. Eddie's blinking at him, not realizing at all what he just asked.

"Well?"

It wasn't until long after he got home and when he was drifting off to sleep that he made his realization. Eddie sat up in bed, eyes wide.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! OH MY GOD! OH. MY. GOD!"

"Boy! Why is it that whenever you have a crisis, it has to be so damn loud?! I'm actually working days for once. Let me sleep," Wayne said, pausing. "We'll discuss it in the morning if you want to."

Wayne had his own room now. Unfortunately, the rooms were right next to each other. Eddie waited until he was fast asleep again before he wrote a note and left still wearing his pj's. Pretty soon, he was pounding on Steve’s door, and Steve was opening it, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Eddie?"

"Did you know about me? I mean, could you like detect it even if I didn't know about it?" Eddie asked. "Could you, like, sniff it out?"

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about, but come on in," Steve said.

"You told me about you being bisexual. Did you know about me?" Eddie asked when Steve closed the door behind him.

"Uh, honestly, no. Is that what this is about? I'll go put on some coffee. You go ahead and continue freaking out if you need to, big boy," Steve said.

"JESUS H CHRIST! I called you big boy! How did I not know then?!" Eddie asked.

When Steve came back with two mugs of coffee, Eddie was fast asleep on his couch. Steve sighed and set them on the coffee table. The phone rang, and Steve rushed to answer it before it could wake up Eddie.

"Hello?"

"Steve, it's Wayne. Is Eddie there?"

"Yeah, he came in here freaking out. He's asleep now."

"Did he say why he was freaking out?"

"Yeah, but - "

"But you don't want to say? Thanks for respecting his privacy. If he wants to tell me, then he will when he's ready. You should know that when he freaks out like this and then falls asleep, he's going to wake up again. Be prepared, son."

"Yeah, I'll look after him."

"Thanks. I'm going to get some rest. Good night, and good luck."

"Goodnight."

Steve hung up the phone and walked back into the living room. He grabbed a magazine off of the table and began flipping through it while sipping his coffee. Eddie sat up suddenly, and Steve nearly spilled his coffee.

"Oh my God! I was hitting on you!" Eddie exclaimed. "I said you had a great ass!"

"There it is," Steve said, putting down his magazine.

"I like both," Eddie said, not looking at Steve.

"It's totally normal to - ," Steve said.

"I like both!" Eddie said again. "This is so, so - "

"Eddie?"

"This is so. . .METAL!" Eddie exclaimed, grinning.

"Okay, not the reaction I was expecting, but then again, you're Eddie Munson, so what was I expecting?" Steve asked, grinning fondly.

Eddie slid to the floor in front of him, grin still firmly in place.

"Do you know what this means?" Eddie asked.

"I could guess," Steve said.

"Steve," Eddie said, and then the grin slid off his face. "This is just another gender that's just going to reject me."

"Well, I already know one guy who's interested," Steve said with a smirk, and Eddie was smiling again.

"Oooh, who is it? I bet it's Jeff. Is it Jeff? I'm just now realizing that I do think he's handsome," Eddie said.

"I don't know," Steve said, scowling. "He better not be."

"Okay, who else could it be?" He asked, tapping his chin. "Oh, man, is it Mike? One, he's way too young, and honestly, I think of him like a younger brother. . .like a really annoying younger brother. I'd hate to be there for that conversation. Can you reject him for me?"

"I like you, Eddie," Steve said softly.

"I like you too, man," Eddie said, blinking rapidly at him.

He still didn't get it. Steve rolled his eyes. He cupped Eddie's face and pulled him in for a gentle kiss. Steve pulled back quickly, smiling at him.

"So, are you going to tell me who it is, or am I going to have to keep guessing?" Eddie asked.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Steve growled.

Eddie giggled and leaned forward to capture his lips with his. He quickly broke the kiss.

"I knew when you said that you knew a guy," Eddie said. "I just wanted to see if I could make you jealous if I mentioned that I think Jeff is handsome."

"So, you do think he's handsome," Steve said with narrowed eyes.

"He's nothing compared to you, baby," Eddie replied and then paused. "And as much as I would love nothing more than to make out with you, can we talk for a while?"

"Absolutely," Steve said softly.

So, they sat on the couch, sipping their coffee while they talked with Eddie's legs planted firmly in Steve's lap. Steve talked about how he always sort of knew, and he told Eddie about his first male crush. Eddie had been disappointed that it hadn't secretly been him. They talked for a long time with the conversation ending with them deciding that they were boyfriends. Steve and Eddie fell asleep on the couch, entangled in each other.